Helen's Hero
by Do Re Mi 123
Summary: COMPLETE! Thanks to all the people who reviewed, and if you start reading now, still R&R! A woman dressed as a man to fight for GReece reveals all on her last night before her execution.
1. Thank me

A/N I don't own Troy, if I did I'd be making this into a movie, not a fan fiction.  
  
This is based entirely on the movie. I've ordered the Iliad the book/story/epic so maybe then I'll write an actual Iliad based fiction, but until then this is what you get. Please give it chance?????? I'll be your best friend and to those handsome few out there, I'll be even more wink wink J/K  
  
The festivities could still be heard and the aroma of feasts and pleasure reached me through my barred window. From the gossip passed between my guards, I could tell that Greece had apparently abandoned hope of capturing Troy. It seemed the citizens of Troy were taking this mysterious leave with a welcoming embrace, even the guards allowed themselves a bit of amusement, at the expense of my body.  
  
Now I sat in the corner of the prison cell, my knees drawn up and my hands trying to cover my body since my tarred clothing could no longer fulfill the task. Thick rings were worn under my eyes from hours of crying and because of the orders given to the guards to prevent me from any sleep. My upper lip was swollen, my right eye barely open because of the hits that I received from the guards during their moment of lust.  
  
The cuts on my face were various, some from battle, others from the hospitality of the prison. Thankfully the blood had dried and now only smudged my face and tangled my raven hair.  
  
I raised my head bravely as I heard the door to my cell being unlocked. I would not let those men see me weak and withering. Rather die having them curse me for my stubbornness than mocking me for my feminine fear.  
  
"Try to look your best," the solider entered, grinning disgustingly at me as he opened the door wide. If I had the spirit to escape, I would have just then, but my spirit had left me for the time being. I was shallow shell of what I was when first arriving to Troy.  
  
The soldier stepped aside and a hooded figure entered the room. Immediately I could tell the visitor was female, she was tall and thin. I did not fear a beating from her, whoever she was, for she looked like she had been deprived from any physical strength all her life.  
  
"Leave us," the woman turned to address the soldier. He frowned in disappointment. I didn't know what the wicked soldier had in mind, and I guessed I'd never find out. Once the soldier closed the door behind him, the visitor took off her hood. I inhaled as the light of the festivities above us lit the beautiful face of Helen.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I struggled to get to my feet. I had too much pride to allow her to see withering in the corner of a prison cell. Throughout the Trojan War I had hated this woman, the woman who had started it all. I never knew why I grew to hate her, I had never met her in my life, but I guess it was easy to hate her since that day I smuggled myself into the Greek Army.  
  
"I only wish to speak with you and apologize," Helen bowed her head respectfully. I laughed for some reason, I suppose I found it amusing. Finally in my life someone was bowing to me, despite my obvious gender and low status, and not just anyone was sounding me respect, but Helen of Sparta was. In a prison cell of all places.  
  
"I'll take the apology, but you can keep your conversation," I snapped at her. If the guards were listening, I would be expecting a fine beating before the night ended.  
  
"It seems Troy has come through this war successful," Helen continued, ignoring my previous decline. "What are your thoughts on this? Greece disappeared and all they left was a gift to the gods."  
  
'The gods,' I thought bitterly. 'Achilles must have loved that.' I decided that Helen was not going to leave without a conversation. "What does it matter to me, Helen? I'm a prisoner, not a philosopher of war."  
  
"You're a soldier."  
  
"I'm a woman," I retorted. I found myself pacing the room now for some reason. Perhaps her piercing eyes bothered me, they looked almost as if they held some kind of truth that I cowered from.  
  
"Yes you are, a woman disguised as a man to fight back the honor of her land," Helen smiled. I frowned in confusion, what was this woman thinking? "It was very brave of you."  
  
"Very stupid of me," I corrected. "I'm to be executed at dawn. I've been raped countless of times, my body feels no more shame. If I return to the Greek army I'll be given the same treatment, maybe something even worse, considering Agamemnon."  
  
"You are not stupid," Helen assured me. I laughed again. I did not wish to ear this praise from Helen, I wished to hear it from a victor of war. I wanted it from someone like Achilles. Wanted it from a man.  
  
"If it was not stupidity that has brought me to this doomed position, then what was it?"  
  
"The same thing that has brought me here," she told me. I paused in my pace and looked at her in silent disbelief. I was going to be killed at dawn, Helen would be watching from a balcony, and she was comparing my situation with hers? She saw us as equals? "I know what you are thinking," she said with a defensive tone, which made me believe she had. I continued with my pacing, allowing her to continue. "You may find it hard to believe, but you and I are very much a like in this world. You ran away from your life, the life you lived in the shadows of men. You took up the sword and walked side- by-side with warriors, not in their shadows. I too ran away from my shadowy existence in Sparta."  
  
"Do you walk side-by-side with your men, Helen? Or do you watch from the shades of a balcony as the men shape the future for you?" I asked her, my eyebrow rose in question. The eyebrow was painful to rise, but I did not flinch or show my pain.  
  
"I said we were alike, not the same," Helen responded. "In Sparta I was a man's possession, now I'm a man's love and he is mine. My whole life I have been deprived of living, but now that I'm in Troy I feel like I'm closer to leaving the shadows. No doubt you felt the same, coming here on those ships. Yet you knew you couldn't leave the shadows completely. You could never live in the light like the men, but you could lie to yourself that you could by disguising yourself as a man."  
  
"So you came here to tell me that I've been living in a lie?" I laughed. I felt myself blush and I turned away, looking up at the passing shadows from outside.  
  
"I came here to tell you that you are inspiration to me," Helen corrected. I turned my head sideways to look at her from the corner of my eye.  
  
"You just called me a liar."  
  
"I never said you were a liar," she went on. "You fought by the side of the great Achilles, and you could have continued fighting by his side if you hadn't given yourself up to the Trojans as an apology for Achilles disrespect to Hector. You tricked the men into thinking you were nothing more than a man, but truly you were greater than man. You gave up your life for the ethics you believe in, and we both know that men rarely have ethics these days of age." I was silent for a moment, touched by what this woman was saying. If I had the energy, perhaps I would have cried, but my body was too tired to waste energy on something so pointless as crying.  
  
"Why do you come to me? Why tell me this the night before my execution?" I demanded, angry now. I didn't know why I was angry, I suppose it was because of the short time I had to reflect on her words. Her words would had been of great comfort twelve days ago, when I had first been tossed into this cell.  
  
"Because I don't want you to die without the proper respect you deserve," she said calmly. I turned to face her again, to stare into her piercing eyes. "If I could I would save you, but as you said before, this is a doomed position. I still live in the shadows, dear sister," I was surprised that she would dare address me as that, but I made no reaction, "to speak for you would only create laughter and mockery on my part."  
  
"Can't you convince Paris?" I asked quietly.  
  
"I don't think you would allow yourself to be saved that way," Helen answered. I couldn't help but smirk at her surprising depth of wisdom and perception. If she had spoken to Paris I would refuse the offer of savior, because I knew what would await me on the other side of this cell, slavery, position, a life of shadows as Helen would put it. We both were silent for a moment, my smile still worn.  
  
"And your apology? What were you going to apologize for?" I remembered her reasons for coming to me.  
  
"I was going to apologize for starting the war," she looked me straight in the eyes. Perhaps she was looking for my hatred that I harbored for her. "Like so many who had fought in the war, I think you knew your doom awaited you on this land, or you were expecting it. You knew you would never be able to return to Greece after the war."  
  
I think Helen had found my source of hatred for her. I lowered my eyes and thought about what she had said, everything, and I wasn't surprised to find that I held no bitterness against her any longer. "Why apologize? If what you say is true, about me leaving the shadows, then it was you who gave me the push I needed to come out of them. I should be thanking you."  
  
"Thank me by telling me your heroic acts during the war," Helen stepped forward eagerly. "I tire of hearing the tales of men, I wish to hear the story of someone who raises above them in strength and honor. I wish to hear the story of Aretha {1}."  
  
A/N Hello! This is my first Troy fiction and since this cozy little section of ff.net is relatively new, I decided to post my own original story before someone else could! Hahaha!  
  
{1} I know nothing about the Greek Language, but when I searched Greek names on the internet, it said that Aretha was Greek, it meant excellence. It was either that or Andrea, which meant masculine, but Aretha sounds more Greek.  
  
Tell me what you think! Do you hate it? Love it? Despise it? Want it dead and buried before daybreak tomorrow morning? Tell me, but politely (a.k.a no flames v.s.p) 


	2. Spoils of War

A/N Thanks for reviewing  
  
A/N I know that in Ancient Greece, Spartan Woman had the most freedom. Ancient Sparta with their free women didn't exist in the time of Troy, so I'm afraid to use the liberal demeanor of Spartan women unless someone can tell me that it was during the time of 1200 B.C.  
  
I'm not planning on having the fic being long. As to the whole slash idea, yeah it will be a bit of a slash fic, seeing as how all the men will think she is a he and other STUFF. Hahaha I won't tell you what that stuff is.  
  
I've only sent he movie once so some of the scenes will be wrong.  
  
Oh yeah! Is the name ok? Aretha?? Now I have to think of a male's name! URG! J/K

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I slid back down in my corner. My tale was a long one, too long to endure while standing. Smiling wryly I gestured for Helen to seat herself. Awkwardly she knelt on the straw covered floor.  
  
"Like you, I come from Sparta," I began, closing my eyes. The memories of Sparta had been like a merciful drug for me during the past twelve days, helping me rise above the pain. "It had been three years after my marriage with my husband when you ran off with Paris. He was hardly ever home, and I ran our large estate. But that's not a part of my story, or at least not a part which I wish to share." I was never good at story telling, so I decided to tell it plain and simple. "I was quite surprised that I could smuggled myself aboard one of the war ships sailing from Sparta. I had stolen my father's old armor. . ."  
  
- - - - - - - - - -  
  
I was not a stranger to having a sword sheathed at my side, or a heavy shield on my back. I had practiced warfare with many of the guards and with male friends in the past. While they thought it was a waste of my time, I was dreaming about this day.  
  
My black hair was cut to my shoulders and plaited. I praised the gods for giving me broader shoulders than normal women, for although they weren't hardly as broad as the men's, I had a large chance of passing unnoticed.  
  
As I sat rowing the large ship, my muscles hurting and rippling under my father's old armor, I tolerated the other men as they mocked me for my size, misjudging me as a brash youthful male instead of an accomplished woman. I didn't dare speak, too afraid that my voice might be too soft, but in my mind I was giving out insults to each man who laughed around me.  
  
Also there was talk about the old fashion of my armor, another thing I chose to ignore. I had to bite my bottom lip in order not to reply, giving my secret away. My father had died before I was born, and I'll admit that his armor was old and his blade had lain unused for centuries, but this was all I could get my hands on. Even disguised as a man I couldn't go into the streets and purchase armor and a sword. I am not that arrogant as to delude myself into thinking that I am the master of disguise, I am not and I had to be careful.  
  
I smiled to myself as I listened to them talk about my old armor. In Sparta I had to endure women gossiping and criticizing other women for having poor fashion. Now I was in a war-ship and I still needed to hear it. Still women and men were different, every much so, and I think I enjoyed the company of men more. At least with men they tell you their insults to your face, not with women who snicker behind each other's backs.  
  
The shifts of rowers changed thankfully and I stood up, my legs burning and tight. Behind my helmet no one could see my discomfort. Perhaps if someone were staring into my hazel-gray eyes, maybe then they would see it. Wisely, I had my head bowed, my eyes cast down.  
  
I marveled at the many fleets of ships. A young man walked up to me from the side and leaned on the ledge of the ship and sighed dreamingly. "They say Achilles is in that ship there," he pointed to the ship towards the front line. I looked in the direction, but I didn't reply. This young man was not going to find a war companion in me. "He's half-god you know," he continued. I narrowed my eyes at the ship that Achilles sailed, wondering whether the gossip was true.  
  
I couldn't wait until I met the man. To know that I would be fighting beside him against our common enemy made my skin tingle. When he saw me I wouldn't be a silent woman to him, but a strong warrior, he would actually see me.  
  
Eventually the young soldier understood that I was not a talkative boy as he was and left. The men aboard continued to rotate from rowing as the captain's and higher officials talked amongst themselves. I kept looking at them, sometimes I didn't even notice I was staring at the officials.  
  
"There's no use, boy," the man sitting across from me grinned. "We won't be hearing their plans until we are called to fight, because that is what we do. We fight."  
  
If people continued to speak to me and I continued to ignore them, I was bound to start something. I knew I had to be careful of other's pride. This war proved to all that a hurt pride called for violence. "I understand that," I told him quietly, so not to sound my voice too strongly.  
  
"Most young men like yourself never fully except that truth," the man sitting next to the first man laughed. "Not sure whether you speak out of pride or of real comprehension."  
  
"I plan on saving my hurt pride for the battlefield, where I can wage my revenge," I couldn't help but grin slightly. The two men were amused. They continued the conversation, but thankfully the two men mostly conversed, forgetting at me for the time.  
  
"Halt!" the officials commanded once Troy was in sight. I wasn't rowing at the time and I was one of the first onboard to see the sandy shores of Troy. My heart leaped for joy as I awaited the commanders' directions. Gripping onto my sword I anticipated the call to war.  
  
"We will wait here until further order, men!" they told them and turned away again. My hopes almost dropped completely, but they were lifted once again when I saw a long line of Trojan warriors line the sand dunes further up the beach. It wasn't all their army, obviously, but there was no doubt in my heart that Hector accompanied them.  
  
I looked back at my commanders, shocked for what I had just thought of. Are we afraid of them? I asked myself, slowly growing angry at our coward behavior. Agamemnon was holding us back because we were afraid of the mighty Hector? I didn't believe the king would be scheming something grander, I knew him well enough to have no faith in his ability to scheme worldly schemes.  
  
Something caught my attention at the corner of my eyes. One of the ships was continuing forward. I shielded my eyes from the sun to get a better look and laughed aloud when I realized that it was the ship of the Myrmidons. I was happy to see that at least one man was not taking the orders of the foolish king. I knew it was Achilles and it only made me laugh even more, but I controlled my laughter.  
  
_That is how one becomes the most skilled fighter in all of Greece; you fight without order  
_  
It had seemed that Agamemnon finally decided it was time to reach shore. The fight in Apollo's temple was still happening, only just barely. Our ship was one of the last to land, and by then the fight was over. I watched enviously as Achilles and his men cheered from atop the steps of the temple.  
  
I was order to retrieve the remaining spoils of the temple. Achilles was still standing at the entrance of the temple, his sword in hand, with a satisfied grin. Again I found myself staring without noticing it, but Achilles noticed. "Agamemnon sent you to clean up, did he?" he sneered. I lowered my eyes respectfully. The words were caught in my throat, even though I never remembered thinking of speaking. I was so close to a legend. "Tell me he can fill his greed with Apollo's gifts."  
  
"Yes sir," I said, my voice course and low. I cleared my throat. Achilles laughed again.  
  
"How are you suppose to defeat the enemies if you fear your own allies?"  
  
He left before I could make a fool out of myself again. I quickly dashed into the temple. Achilles' men were leaving, laughing and conversing, with bundles of treasure under their arms. As I passed them one of the men stopped me, grinning disgustingly; "There's a real nice treat in there. If I didn't have a wife back home I would take it myself, but I don't want to be selfish, good boy."  
  
Before I turned the corner inside of the temple I knew already what the 'treat' was. Curled up, whimpering in fear was a priestess of Apollo. I stood there, confused by what I was meant to do. She looked to be from royalty and when she saw me she glared at me with such fire that I was reminded of myself. "Keep away from me, murderer!" she accused me. I felt that I should tell her that I was watching from the ships during the whole ordeal, but I was silent. It would do nothing, wouldn't even satisfy her raging emotions. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, she struggled but I was the stronger woman.  
  
"Don't fight, priestess. Even if you do free yourself, there are men outside who will catch you," I growled and pushed her to the exit. "I assure you that they will treat you even worse than I am."  
  
"The Gods will have their revenge on you, fool! You have defiled the temple of a god," she warned me. I rolled my eyes. The gods; how everyone feared them. It was Achilles who defiled the temple, and he was the most blessed among the Greek. I had broken the codes that set the life of women, yet I was still walking and breathing. I even had a captive in my possession, even though I didn't really want her. What use was a woman to me?  
  
Once I came to our camps I went directly to my commanders with the priestess, eager to lose her. "Keep her for the time being, boy," they told me without even looking up from their maps. "I will send someone with a notice to Agamemnon concerning her."  
  
I sighed angrily as I tied her to a post. I had to set up my tent before dealing with her. The other men around us grinned at her and touched her when they thought I wasn't looking. Filthy worms, I thought as I turned around. They removed their hands quickly. I untied her and led her into my tent roughly.  
  
The men cheered when they saw me push her to the floor of the tent. I rolled my eyes and closed the flaps of the tent. "Just be quiet," I told her as I tied her ankles. I was wasting rope on her, and I was hoping Agamemnon would send for her quickly.  
  
I stood up and continued to unpack my small supply of belongings. I hadn't packed much with me. Only a few tunics and bandages in case I was injured. I knew I wouldn't be able to have the army bandage me, for they were bound to find out my secret then.  
  
She was silent, but I could still feel the anger from her and the hateful glare at the back of my head. I took my belt off and was about to take my armor off when I realized what that would cause. I looked back at the priestess. Her eyes had changed, they were wondering now, thinking.  
  
"What is your name?" I asked her quickly, afraid that she had caught onto my disguise. Thankfully her glare turned hostile again, but she remained silent.  
  
"You're young for war," she snapped. Hopefully that was the only thing she noticed.  
  
I had to think of something to say that would make me sound like a man, and quickly. "You're. . . beautiful for Apollo's priestess," I commented, ashamed that my voice quivered. She searched my eyes for a moment before I looked away from her. I prayed a messenger would be arriving any moment now to get her.  
  
"I don't think you're interested in beauty, soldier," she said coldly. She was right.  
  
"You're right," I said sharply. "I'm not interested in you. I have everything that a woman could offer." I laughed shortly at the irony of what I had just said.  
  
"So you are married?" she questioned. Again she was right, but she didn't need to know that my husband was on the campsite with us, that he had sailed on another ship. I simply nodded. "So you abandoned your own family so that you could terrorize another family?"  
  
I remained still. I was beginning to grow angry with her. I did not simply come from Greece to terrorize. I came for honor and respect, I came because I wasn't going to allow Greece to be shamed any longer. She believed I would kill needlessly, but she didn't know that I would only kill those who would bring Greece honor. Killing her would be a waste, and I wouldn't touch her either for that was pointless as well. I'm sure that if someone else had found her, a man, she would have been touched many times, yet she wasn't giving me thanks, she was criticizing me.  
  
"It would be easier to believe that wouldn't it, priestess?" I retorted, turning to her. She drew back, maybe she realize the fire in my eyes. "It always is easier to believe in evil than it is to believe in good." I wondered what her reaction would be if she discovered I was a woman, would she pity me or would she label me as even a greater evil.  
  
"Do you believe that you are good?" she asked calmly. She obviously did not believe that I could be good.  
  
"What does it matter? To you and to Troy I shall always be the enemy."  
  
"You're wiser than most soldiers I have met," she admitted. "Perhaps you are good, but I'll never see it."  
  
"No, you won't," I agreed. I took a seat across from her, careful to keep my legs crossed. I pulled my helmet off. I was impatient for her to be sent away. Although I would miss her cold company, but I think it would be safer for her to go. Not safer for her, but for me.  
  
"Am I to be your captive?" she asked after a while. She had been staring at me and I feared the look in her blue eyes. I knew the look; she was beginning to like me, or at least coming to peace with me.  
  
"Hopefully not," I said bluntly. I regretted my comment on her beauty, for I knew she had taken flattery from it and she seemed to be expecting more companionship from me. Most likely the war had caused this. I didn't doubt that if I had brought her to my tent before she was attacked, she wouldn't like me. She was shaken by the war, by the death of her brethren and she found stability in me. _I know women,_ I warned myself.  
  
"So you'd rather give me to those hogs out there," she nodded outside of the tent, bitter at me again. I didn't answer. I couldn't lie to her. I didn't want the other soldiers hurting, for she was nothing to the war effort. It was disgraceful in my opinion to take women from the enemies like that. Men who kept weapons away from women, just so that they can better take advantage of them.  
  
But I knew I could not control what would come. "Not _all_ men will hurt you," I told her softly, my eyes cast downwards. "No matter what you'll be with the enemy," I reminded her. "You'll see evil wherever you look."  
  
"But I'm beginning to see goodness in _you_!" she said quickly. I was shocked that she would say that, so soon to from the point when she called me evil. Before I could respond the flaps of my tent were pulled open.  
  
"Agamemnon requests that the captive be given to Achilles," the commander ordered. I suppose the commander had been expecting to walk in on something more distasteful, so he looked surprise to see me still in my armor. He nodded in farewell and left. I looked to the priestess.  
  
"I've heard tales about Achilles," she whispered, with her head lowered. "He's a killer."  
  
"He's a man of honor," I corrected. I got up and gently pulled her up. I could tell she was purposely trying to make herself heavier, but I was strong enough to lift her, thankful to the fact that she was so small.  
  
Once she was on her feet I bent down to untie her ankles. When I stood up again she leaned towards me and pressed her lips against mine. I could taste the dry blood and grains of sand after she pulled away, looking at me with pleading eyes; "Please don't give me away."  
  
I gave the second kiss. The only thought racing through my head was Thank you. Thank you. She was in love with me, for that moment she was completely dependant on me. I was her potential savior, I was the person who could keep her safe and alive. I was the only man in her life, or so she thought, and she had confidence in me.  
  
Slowly I pulled away from her, my mind spinning with doubt and fear. I had made everything worse for her, because once I walked her out of this tent her hope and heart would shatter. "I can not keep you," I told her. If only she knew that the order from the commander wasn't the only thing that kept me from saving her. I was a woman, and I could not trust her with that secret. I could trust no one with that secret.  
  
"I understand," she said. I knew she did, but I still felt as if I had betrayed her. I felt as if I had betrayed something bigger than this priestess's dependence.  
  
As I led her outside I began to think about the war, about why I was there. It was not because I expected to return with glory. I had a strong sense that this land would be my doom, this war would lead to my downfall. _Helen,_ the foolish queen came to my mind, the name coated in hate. _Curse you Helen_.  
  
------------------------------  
  
"Did you loved her?" Helen asked. Her voice sounded disappointed, amusingly so. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was sitting against the stonewall now, she had discovered that sitting on her knees wouldn't be wise. I could understand why she was asking me this, I was smiling during my tale.  
  
"I loved her," I nodded, although I wasn't completely sure if I completely loved her. Briseis. "I was fond of her, yes, because at times she reminded me of me. Other times I despised her, because she wasn't me." I sighed, confused with what I was saying. I had never really stopped and wondered why I loved the priestess of Apollo, but as I spoke about her it would seem that I had been thinking about it for centuries. "I suppose I love those who understand me," I looked up at Helen. She understood what I meant, I could tell by her eyes that sparkled in the fading light from outside. I closed my eyes again and remembered. . . .

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A/N Ok it might seem that her emotions change A LOT (love-hate, hate-love) but that's who she is. I don't want to explain her character, I want it to show in later chapters, and don't worry she will have another name, a guy's name of course. I just need to find it.  
  
Sorry if this chapter seems boring, which it is. The next ones will be more entertaining.  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed!  
  
Tarnished Soul  
  
SporkGoddess  
  
Meg-let  
  
Soymaid  
  
Carrianne 


	3. A Storm of Passion

A/N Thanks for the reviews!!  
  
The guy name I've found is Anton. Again, I found it on the Internet, and it was one of the easiest to pronounce. It's the version of Anthony, and Anthony is Roman, or so I think. I'm just in ninth grade people; I haven't traveled the world just yet, although I'm planning on going to Greece over the summer.  
  
Sorry for the numerous spelling mistakes, I don't like reading my own work It bores me.  
  
Oh yeah, for this fiction I'm taking the version that Agamemnon took Briseis as compensation for Chryseis. Tell me if that information is wrong, I would appreciate it VERY much.

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I feel ashamed to admit that as I walked the priestess to Achilles, I was excited to meet the famous Greek warrior again. I was planning on not making a fool of myself. I felt selfish, bring this priestess to Achilles, while dreaming about her new captor with fond thoughts instead of trying to comfort her. Yet I couldn't help it, I was too much in love with the man.  
  
We came to the Myrmidons' camping grounds. All eyes turned on us, all the men were instantly filled with either lust or homesickness for their own wives or lovers. No one came to ask us for our business, perhaps they thought I was simply walking my possession for fresh air.  
  
Tired of being stared at but not helped, I walked up to one of the men sitting nearby. He dared to continue studying the priestess's beauty until I stood directly in front of him, blocking her from his view. "Tell me where Achilles is," I demanded. Holding onto the priestess hands gave me the feeling of being higher than the blue-eyed soldier before me. They all wanted her, but I had her, for the time being.  
  
Envy and lust, that was basically all I saw in those men. Seeing these low emotions in them made me want to see Achilles even more, I wished to see power, honor and, above all, glory. All I saw so far was hunger and desire.  
  
The soldier only smirked at my demand and pointed behind me, at the largest tent I had seen so far, next to the Kings' tents that is. Agamemnon would never stand having someone having a larger tent than his. I should have known it was Achilles, and I damned myself for my lack of logic, but I continued to deliver the priestess to the great warrior without showing my embarrassment. _Better to make a fool out of myself to his men than to Achilles himself,_ I told myself.  
  
We were about to enter his tent when the priestess stopped me. "I don't know your name," she told me. I was surprised we hadn't exchanged names yet, even after we had both kissed one another. I laughed inwardly at how foolish I had been in my moment of passion.  
  
"My name is Anton," I replied. Truly it was my brother's name, but he was still an infant. When coming to the war ships I was asked only two questions, my name and which province I was born. I only had to lie for one of them.  
  
"Anton," she echoed my name with tender love. It began to dawn on me how foolish both of us were being. We had met only a few hours before, in an awful situation as well. My nation had defiled the temple of her god, and I was the one who brought her to our camp as our captive. Yet we found something inside of each other to love. And we found it quickly. "My name is Briseis," she looked at me and smiled softly.  
  
I was drawn to her, and no matter how unreasonable I was being, I was in love with the thought of her. A fragile woman, a beautiful woman that was what she was. She was a precious flower, the last flower before the winter, the kind one would cherish.  
  
I was beginning to use the metaphors of old men who sat at taverns, who wept over lost loves. They say women are foolish, but I have my doubts.  
  
I didn't say anything else to my beautiful flower, Briseis. I left it at that, for I saw no better way to abandon her. _Give her your name and go,_ I repeated to myself as I drew back the curtain of leather strips.  
  
I could imagine her disappointment. To her, I was a contradiction to what I was supposed to be; brave, strong and honorable. Never, was a man meant to be shaken by another force, but Achilles was too strong of a force for a disguised woman like myself to compete with.  
  
"My lord," I called as I brought my head into the tent, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The air was hot, and I could smell the burning sand mixed with metal. Close to the door stood a basin of clear water, which Achilles used to wash his face. He barely glanced at me when I intruded, he didn't seem surprised. I suppose he had no reason to be, no one would dare to attack him here.  
  
He took another handful of water and splashed it across his face. His hands grabbed to sides of the basin and he leant over the water. Drops of water slid down his face into the remaining liquid, and his golden hair fell forward, curtaining his profile. Inhaling deeply, I could see his chest raising and falling slowly through his armor.  
  
"What do you want, boy?" he finally addressed me.  
  
"I bring you a. . . a gift," I felt like I was betraying myself as a woman when I called her that. "A gift from Agamemnon."  
  
"Agamemnon," he repeated the name with spite. I worried that I had angered him, but it seemed that speaking the name with hate was all he was doing to express his rage.  
  
Briseis's hands stiffened in mine. I darted my eyes towards her, trying to silently tell her to prepare herself for the worse. It was foolish of me to mention Agamemnon.  
  
"What is this gift?" he asked, beginning to strip his body from his armor. I lowered my eyes and felt myself blush. Hopefully the sun outside shadowed my face.  
  
"A Trojan maiden, my lord," I explained. He smirked at me, as if to send me a message. He knew what the gift was before I even told him, but he wanted to hear the words.  
  
"A woman? Hmm, how amusing," he snickered. He threw his armor at the other end of the tent. Finally he looked to me, he frowned slightly; "Have we met?"  
  
"Shortly my lord, outside the temple of Apollo."  
  
"Ah yes, the frightened boy," he remembered. "The one who stuttered."  
  
"Yes my lord," my head dropped shamefully. I had wished my helmet had obscured my face. He stepped closer to me, directly before me. His large hand reached up to my face and he gently raised my head so he could better see me.  
  
"Yes. . . the same eyes," he muttered to himself. He released my face, smiling.  
  
A tingle went through my body. A man of his statue and fame had never touched me when I was a woman. My shoulders were too broad, my hips too narrow, breasts too small and I was undesirable for marriage because of my barrenness. After unsuccessfully trying to conceive for two years, my husband labeled me a wasteland for children bearing and met whores at night behind my back. I was a tasteless fruit to him, and I was left to lead a life without love.  
  
Yet disguised as a man, I was able to win the fancy of the greatest hero who has walked the earth. The greatest son of Greece.  
  
My body was in an animalistic heat. I forgot my love for Briseis and craved to take Achilles in pure raging passion. From the look in his eyes, which resembled blue flames of fables, I could tell he wanted the same thing. My heart was racing, my chest raising and falling.  
  
Briseis had only stirred a smooth passion in me, Achilles had started a storm. I understood then, why men took men for companions. Women were too fragile to love with a fiery passion, but a man could endure that flame. I could endure it.  
  
I took three steps back. He couldn't take me in passion, it would ruin everything like Briseis loving me would. I pulled her in front of me, showing Achilles what Agamemnon was giving him. I gave my flower away, to be crushed in the hands of a killer, all too save me from doom.  
  
No, Briseis could not save me from doom. I could feel it, it was like the wind, invisible but there. No fear came with the whisper of doom, it was going to happen and I could not change it, so fearing it would be futile.  
  
I could see that my withdraw hurt his pride, but amusement shone in his eyes. He reminded me of a cat, looking down on a cornered mouse. The warrior was not expecting to finish the war without enjoying my company, he was confidant he would have me. He intrigued me with his arrogance.  
  
"Your name, fearful soldier?" he grinned. Grabbing Briseis and pulling her into the tent, he moved her aside so he could see me.  
  
"Anton," I answered quickly, still breathing heavily from desire.  
  
"Very well, Anton, I look forward to our first battle," he told me. "Maybe then you'll see why you won't refuse me a second time." I really had no replies for that, I simply bowed and quickly left. First I walked quickly, and then I jogged. The whole way, I could feel his eyes on me from behind.  
  
-------------------  
  
"You even loved the killer Achilles?" Helen asked, amazed. I looked to her, she was sitting more comfortably, her legs stretched out not laced together as a lady.  
  
"Loved? No, no, desired," I approved her question. I could see her thoughts in her eyes, but I could not read them. Did she see me as a whore now? I shook my head. Of course she didn't, she understood what both Achilles and Briseis meant to me.  
  
I noticed the continuing festivities above us and realized that Helen was absent from them. It was hard to believe that the reason for the tragic war wasn't even present, the main gift of the winning was sitting in a jail cell with a prisoner. "Won't Paris miss your company?" I asked her. She looked up at the lights and smiled, perhaps she too was imagining the irony.  
  
"He knows I'm here," she answered plainly. The answer was good enough to me, because in reality I didn't care whether or not the young prince moaned her absent company.  
  
"Don't think my tail was all love, for it was war and blood for the most part," I continued with my tale. . .

* * *

A/N Thanks for reviewing everyone. Tell me any tips if you have any and keep reviewing. Thanks to everyone!  
  
Don't worry the story won't just be about her liking/loving/desiring people. I just wanted to get the part of establishing her relationship with the major characters over. And it might seem like she is contradicting herself at times, but I meant for that to happen. It might not show so far, but it will later, just stick to the reading and it will improve. The story WILL improve, I PROMISE!

Anyway, pls R&R!


	4. Winning Respect

A/N PLEASE review! They help encourage me to write, I know that sounds pathetic, but I like to get responses. It tells me that people are still interested.  
  
Should I change the title 'Helen's Hero' to something like "Unsung Warrior' or something?

* * *

I spent my spare time at the Spartan camp, far away from both Achilles and Briseis. I would practice swordplay with a few of the soldiers. Everyone thought I was relatively young. I was twenty-six, but my small size gave me the look of a twenty or possibly nineteen year old man.  
  
I had to bear the older men's taunts when I first stepped up to a practice duel. The man I took the challenge from had won four duels in a row, and was quite cocky. Night had come and we were feasting by a large fire, laughing, dueling and passing stories.  
  
I had tolerated as many stories as I could. Most stories were about women, of course. When the stories weren't about women, they were about land and then about how through their land they married the richest woman. Fathers bragged about their sons, their brains and growing skills, and about their daughters, but not as much and when they mentioned them it was only noted that they were beautiful like their mothers. Mothers who they had met through smart marriages or spying her on the riverbanks on fine spring days.  
  
I was quiet most of the time. The only reason I took the challenge was because the men began to direct the conversation towards spoils of war, treasure and women, of course. Someone seemed to remember me bringing Briseis into my tent for a moment, and commented. The still standing champion of the practice duels heard this and made the mistake to tease me about it. "It's always the young ones! They grab the first maiden they can get their horny hands on!" he bellowed. The others laughed with him.  
  
My eyes narrowed at the insult. It was rich for the men to be laughing at me for being horny when it had been them fingering Briseis while I set my tent, and it was them who were telling stories of rape and love-making.  
  
"Have you been death to the stories passed tonight, good sir?" I asked sharply. This man was almost twice my size, and I was impressed that I had the nerves to speak to him like that. With my sword by my side I felt confidant enough though. "If you accuse me of being horny, do not spare our comrades."  
  
"And have you been blind to my fighting tonight, _young boy_?" he mocked. The men laughed. It seemed no one was on my side for this, which meant little to nothing to me. Men were like wolves, you had to prove yourself before you led the pack. As I stood up from the fallen log, I knew I could be that wolf.  
  
"I've seen it," I replied. I had an unfair advantage. The man had drunk much wine during the night, I hardly drunk any. Being paranoid, I guessed, that I'd get so drunk that I might disclose my secret.  
  
"Well? Don't you think that speaking to me will cause you certain death, boy?" he struck his sword forward. The thick tip nearly touched my chest, but I did not flinch.  
  
"You haven't seen _me _fight yet," I remained him. "I still have the element of surprise." He chuckled and studied me, his small black eyes shining in the fire.  
  
"What's your name, boy?"  
  
"Anton."  
  
"Well Anton, why don't you show me your surprise then? Surprise us all!" he withdrew his sword and spoke to his friends. They laughed but they laughed nervously, looking towards me with doubt. Did they fear one of us would be killed? Or did they believe I could better this man?  
  
"Is that a challenge?" I asked, my voice steady. He turned back at me, grinning.  
  
"It is." He held his sword at the ready. I supposed I was the first to strike.  
  
My sword tore out of its sheath and I jumped forward. I kept my blade twirling, keeping my hand alive and flowing with energy. He, however, chose to keep his hand steady. My blade struck his, and I believe he had underestimated my strength because the blade moved greatly from its spot. The twirling with the sword most have given him the impression that my hits would be weak, but I knew well to firmly grip my sword before issuing a plow.  
  
He struck the second time. I bent back as the sword came to my face, and slipped my own blade in between my head and his sword. The wine was affecting him, I believe, because he fought with more anger with me than with any other he had fought that night. Then again I could have seriously injured his pride. He swung again, but at the side of my torso, again I blocked it.  
  
I was not going to give him the final strike. I brought my sword up, pushing his weapon along with mine. Once above our heads, I shoved his sword away from mine. I drew my right leg up, my strongest leg, and kicked the arrogant fool squarely in the stomach. He stumbled back, the wind was knocked out of him and his eyes were wide with shock. The men sitting on the log between him quickly moved as he stammered backwards, unbalanced by my kick. As anticipated, the man tripped over the log and fell backwards, losing grip on his sword in the process.  
  
The men were silent for a moment, unsure with what to say or do. Their silence did not last long before they exploded in laughter. Some got up to pat me on the shoulders for my job well done, others raised their cups to me in honor. I smiled modestly and went to the log he had fallen over. I placed my leg up on the log and leaned forward to stare down on him, but not to gloat.  
  
"You were drunk," I told him bluntly, offering my hand. He looked up at me in disbelief.  
  
"You kicked me!" he whined. I laughed at the sight of unjust served man and shook my head.  
  
"Would you rather have it that I rammed my blade in your gut instead then?" I smirked. Understanding of his foolishness dawned on him and he took my hand.  
  
"You won, a battle you could have killed me in, yet you do not accept victory," he said as I pulled him to his feet. "Instead you blame wine for your victory."  
  
"Would you rather have me gloat?" I raised the question wisely. He got to his feet, but he sighed and sat on the log he had fallen over.  
  
"You're a strange man Anton, strange man." Fear crossed my mind for a moment. Strange man, his words echoed and millions of suspicions followed.  
  
"You're an old man," I tried to jest. The men around us laughed and he even allowed himself to laugh at himself. I grabbed a goblet from a younger soldier's hand and sat myself by my defended friend, slapping him on the back. "To help tend to your wounds, friend," I handed him the drink of wine. Again there was laughter all around.  
  
Jest after jest was told, and I laughed till tears filled my eyes and my sides hurt. I even drank more than I had planned on doing. Everything about the evening was pleasant and carefree, the idea of the war and what potential doom we faced in Troy were drain as we drank. We were not reminded of our duties and burdens until one of our commanders interrupted.  
  
"Listen men!" he shouted, obviously disgusted with our behavior. I looked at our commander from across the fire, I watched the flames dance in his disapproving eyes and it seemed the gods were making fun of his frazzled demeanor. "You and the Myrmidons are going to be sent to a nearby village, where you will collect all supplies or food and nutrients possible. The troops shall leave at daybreak, not a second after."  
  
"Yes sir!" the men shouted, most of them slurring the words and others breaking into fits of hilarity. I on the other hand was on another level of thinking. We were going to fight tomorrow, no doubt there were some Trojan soldiers there who would prove to be a challenge. Absently I looked into my drink, at the red wine and I envisioned the blood that would be spilt by my hand.  
  
_I will take life to keep Greece alive, to keep me alive_, I pledged to myself. {1}I raised my glass; _To Anton_.  
  
After the notice given by the commander, most of the men began to return to their sleeping quarters and eventually I did as well. I cautiously prepared myself for sleep. I set my armor neatly so that it would be easy to place them back on the next morning. With only a tunic and a cotton skirt that I smartly stole from my husband in Sparta, I crawled into my fur rugs on the floor and eased myself into sleep.  
  
My dreams were violent. Incoherent, frightening images flashed before me. There was fire, burning hot fire, but I could only tell by its overwhelming presence. I saw myself, in my form before I joined the armed forces. Wearing a silk gown and my hair long and flowing, I wondered endlessly in darkness. I felt frustrated, trapped and confused. The fire was too much; it was hard to breath  
  
Swords were beating against each other in battle, replacing my lost former self. Blood filled the darkness and my body felt almost drowned by the blood. Hades emerged from the darkness and spoke to me, gave me a message; "_Your war brings me tarnished souls! They wonder here blind, deaf and dumb, I do not have the time to find them their proper respect."_  
  
The sounds of battle faded as the scene dissolved in darkness, but the flaming heat remained. Hades returned to where he came and my dream continued. This time it was my own voice that spoke; _"I serve Sparta{2}. . . It always is easier to believe in evil than it is to believe in good . . . Not all men will hurt you . . . You'll see evil wherever you look . . . Anton . . . he's a man of honor . . ."  
_  
My voice over lapped itself, and slowly the chaotic voices faded. I was left in the overwhelming hot darkness. A weak flower stood, firmly rooted to the ground, but surrounded by snow. The flower would die in days, maybe even in hours, but it looked to be fighting winter. Winter would not win over the flower so easily, the flower was not going to allow it.  
  
I reached out to touch the drooping pebbles of the flower. I could feel their silky texture and lightness, I could sense how much it had been burdened by its fight against nature.  
  
I watched in despair as the pebbles and the flower began to shrink in dryness. The heat that had been surrounding me the entire dream had brought the peaceful flower to its bitter end. The pebbles fell into my hands, brittle and crisp.  
  
My body was in a sweat when I jerked myself out of sleep. It was twilight and I could hear the commanders shouting orders and soldiers walking about. A hurried footstep came closer to my own tent, giving me the motives to jump out from my tangled covers to prepare myself for our first mission. During my dream it seemed I had wrapped myself tightly in my covers.  
  
My commander tore back my tent flaps and peered in, angry and impatient. "Get out _now_, Anton!" he shouted and disappeared. I paused in my struggles for freedom to reflect on how random it was for the commander to use my name. Never would I expect a commander to remember a young man's name if it was his first war, but perhaps this one was different.  
  
Or maybe he saw me fighting the fight before; he could have heard my introduction with the man. Maybe my fighting had caught the commanders' attention, it seemed that I caught many attention from various people, why not my commander?  
  
I only had time to remember my disturbing dream once I was walking obediently in line with my Spartan comrades towards our village. Nothing was explainable, except the last scene, with the flower destroyed by the heat.  
  
I had compared Briseis with the flower before giving her up to Achilles. When meeting Achilles I was over run by a passionate heat. Briseis was the flower in the dream, Achilles was the over-powering heat. I jumped to the conclusion that Achilles was going to destroy Briseis some how, either physically or mentally. As I turned this notion over in my head over and over, the conclusion seemed more and more incorrect. Briseis did not fit the flower I saw and the heat did not match Achilles.  
  
Our flanks stopped with the signal of our commander. We were told to be silent. The man next to me, one who I had won the respect from last night, nudged me and pointed to a hill a fair distant away from us. I could see the large imposing figure of Achilles, leading the Myrmidons towards the village.  
  
"We wait until he attacks first, he's favored by the gods, we are not," the man explained in a whisper. We watched in tense silence as Achilles sounded his war cry and motioned his forces forward, pouring into the village from the hill.  
  
"Go men! Go for the glory of Greece!" our commander called. Strangely enough, glory and honor was not on my mind when I advanced towards the village, my thoughts about Achilles and Briseis forgotten.  
  
My only thoughts and aims were to kill, to fell the blood of man on my fingertips. I wanted to test the men of the world, see why they ignore me and why they rule upon me in every sense. Rage and fury were unleashed upon me as I unsheathed my sword. With my weapon, everyone would be subjected to my wishes, men and women alike will fear me.  
  
Recklessly I drove into battle. Greece's honor was nothing to me, I had abandoned that goal along with my love for Briseis and my passion for Achilles. Not an ounce of shame came with my selfishness.

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{1} She's a bit drunk at this point, keep that in mind

{2} Just imagine her saying this when she had to answer her two questions when joining the compaign.  
  
Don't worry I'll write the battle scene. She's kinda going insane isn't she? The dream might be a bit obvious, I know. Please tell me what you think! Am I the only one who thinks this story is falling from its grace since the first chapter??  
  
Any suggestions on the title will help too. . . R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	5. Sharing Victories

A/N Thanks for the reviews!  
  
I have the storyline figured out, and I have to warn everyone, I'm not planning on having a very long story.  
  
And don't worry, I'm not planning on having Aretha/Anton too virtuous, if anything she goes insane. . .

* * *

We poured into the village. Achilles and his men had already sounded their war-cries, so we sounded ours.  
  
I pushed through my own troop to run ahead. I was lighter on my feet and would meet battle before them, I relished the thought of having first kill.  
  
The men came out of the huts, armed and prepared to meet their potential death. The women and children left through the back, crying and distressed. I was running towards one of the men, a large man who looked to be most honored in the village. My sword was held tight in my hand, my eyes were narrowed as I centered on my first target.  
  
In my chaotic spirit, my enemy caught me off guard. I saw him holding a sword in his hand, but I overlooked the hand held behind him, which also gripped a sword. The hand from behind drew the sword and attempted to strike me through the neck. In an attempt to stop, my feet slid on the gravel and dirt, and I fell to the floor, but I did not let lose of my sword.  
  
The element of surprise. It seemed both of us knew the strength it held. Yet I was the most determined to use it.  
  
The enemy stabbed forward. I quickly rolled onto my side, the blade barely missed my heart. His body was leaned forward, his head and torso pulled closer to the floor. Immediately I kicked my leg and the side of his neck.  
  
He didn't lose his balance unfortunately, he only stumbled a few paces away from me. I turned onto my knees, I didn't have time enough to stand. He brought down his swords one after another down upon me, I held my sword above my head to guard his blows. Wisely he changed the order of targeting, tried to strike me on the torso, neck, face and arms. Each blow was growing in strength and speed, and I began to fall back on my knees and he knew I was beginning to lose my confidence. Or so he thought.  
  
At the height of his fighting he brought both arms outwards, and he laughed. He was planning on decapitating me in his final blow. I could either block the attack from the left or the right, but either way I could be killed. If I ducked he would stab me there. I was cornered, but I knew a way out.  
  
I plunged forward towards his legs. I drove my blade throw his leg, catching him off guard and delivering him pain that was immeasurable. He bent over, moaning and feeling the pain of my attack. I rolled over and looked up at his lowering body.  
  
I tore my blade out of him, issuing another cry of pain from the destroyed man, and thrust my sword through his exposed neck. The end of my blade sliced through the tender neck and appeared on the other side again. Warm blood poured down the silver blade, over the hilt and laced through my fingers, gliding smoothly down my bare arm.  
  
His body jerked as Hades pulled him to the underworld. His brown eyes were wide with astonishment and disbelief. I met his stare steadily, my eyes narrowed and silently telling him that he was dead.  
  
As I lay there, holding up the dead corpse with only my blade, with his arms dangling and his swords fallen around me, I was not overwhelmed but my own brutality, but glorified by it.  
  
I threw the corpse aside, releasing my sword from his throat. His blood was all over my arms, hands and armor, but I was not disgusted. I stood up and looked at my enemies fallen swords.  
  
He had received them from somewhere else other than the Trojan army. They were an unique design, both blades were engraved with pictures of warriors and angelic figures. I cast my own sword aside, my plain old sword that held my past, and I took my enemy's blades in both hands.  
  
In Sparta I had always insisted on battling with two blades, but my male trainers were always quick to dismiss the idea, explaining to me that it was wiser to fight with a sword and shield. Today showed me that I was right and they had been wrong. I was grateful for those few days were they would be kind and allow me to fight with two swords for my entertainment.  
  
I was drawn back to the present by two Trojans running into the street through one of the alleys. They paused once they noticed me and I stood still as I noticed them. They were not common villagers, like the man who I had just killed. Young, brave and foolish, these men were soldiers from Troy. It seemed Troy had sent their least finest men to defend the village.  
  
I hid my arm behind my back. My fallen enemy, my first kill on the battlefield, had taught me this lesson of surprise and I would use it well. The soldiers raced towards me, both most likely thinking I was equal to their lack of skill and youth.  
  
One soldier was faster on his feet than the other, thankfully because it gave me the space I needed to take him down before I began with the second.  
  
The first soldier raised his shield before him and his sword rose in the air and swung towards me. With my visible sword I pushed his sword and him away from striking me. His body was turned to a slight angle that would benefit me, and I brought my hidden sword out from behind my back and stabbed him at his uncovered back.  
  
I did not have the time to gloat over my fresh kill however, and tore my sword immediately out of him and struck his comrade who had drawn close enough during his friend's defeat. I knocked his sword and side and tried to play the same tricks, but he defended himself with his shield.  
  
After trying to break his defense, I stepped back from him, panting and scheming. I needed to find a way to break through him and kill. He was quick with holding his shield up, obviously he had paid attention to his commanders, but there were other techniques that could not be learned. I practiced these techniques.  
  
"Surrender now, or I will defeat you!" he ordered me. I laughed.  
  
"I killed a greater warrior than you today, fool," I told him and charged forward striking his sword with one of my blades and his shield with my other. He stepped back to guard himself from my wrath. Once he took five steps I quickly crouched to the floor and slid my sword at his ankles. His body was pulled to the ground once he was torn from his feet. First he fell to his side, but rolled onto his back, screaming with terror and pain. He saw his death coming for him, I could see it in his eyes. "I _will_ kill greater warriors than you still," I vowed as I drove my sword through his heart.  
  
I was not satisfied with only one of my blades standing in his corpse, I stabbed my other one next to the first one, to further prove my position. I was the greater warrior.  
  
I heard a woman's cry further down the street and immediately I took my two swords to investigate. Running, lost in the heat of killing, I came upon the sight. One of the soldiers of Greece, from another province, was harassing a woman. "_Fool_!" I shouted at him, frightening him. He drew his sword at a ready, but lowered it when he realized I was a Greek. I raced up to him and grabbed him away from the woman.  
  
I roughly threw him against one of the houses and pinned him to the wall by stabbing my sword through his shoulder. He was not expecting his ally to attack. "Fight you fool! Win this village then you may collect spoils," I spat. The woman was too afraid and shaken to take the time to run. I looked towards her, my eyes distant like a hungry wolf.  
  
"Leave, you stupid wench!" I ordered her. She cried and bowed her head repeatedly as thanks. I watched her leave, disappearing in the dust of the sands and chaos. The fool pinned to the wall, angry by my actions against his nature, attacked me with his sword. Thankfully he was too disorientated by pain and only graved my arm. I looked to him with flaming eyes. "You idiot," I growled and turned the sword in his shoulder to widen the wound before I pulled him free from it.  
  
He slid to the ground, his blood marking a long trail on the wall in the process. I wouldn't kill him because that much was true. Although I craved for killing at the time, I knew he was an ally and killing him would be a waste. "Get back to fighting, not raping."  
  
I left him to further my hunt for power.  
  
The rest of the battle passed in a blurry violence. I remembered that I killed eighteen men after departing the unfocused Greek.  
  
Few had died from our forces, mostly the young. I did not mourn their deaths, I was almost grateful for it. No more foolishness and stupid arrogance would be present, or at least not at the height it was before. During the battle I helped three young men fight on our side, I could have been better serving my time if it hadn't been for their inexperience and fear.  
  
My hungry spirit slowly faded as we returned to our camps, but the spirit, the restless killing nature, was still there, more than ever before. I had unleashed it, and knew it could never be ignored again.  
  
The men in my camps looked at me with awe and almost fear. No doubt they had witnessed my skills in battle. I didn't keep company with the other men, I went into my own tent and cleaned my swords in peace, letting my blood settle.  
  
My commander entered my room. "Agamemnon wishes to speak with you, my lord," he addressed me. I looked up from polishing my new swords and frowned at our obvious change of position.  
  
"Agamemnon?"  
  
"Yes, Anton, Agamemnon wishes for you to see him immediately," he repeated. I nodded for his dismissal. Taking spare belt from my possessions to sheath my extra blade in, I left my tent to address Agamemnon, purposely leaving the stains of other men's blood on my arms and armor.  
  
I walked up to the guards outside of his glorious tent. "Agamemnon called for me," I told them coldly. My emotions were still vibrating with fury and impatience, and being called out of my peaceful tent only encouraged it. "My name is Anton."  
  
"Of course my lord," they bowed and opened the flaps to the inside.  
  
Agamemnon sat at the far end of a stage of wood. Other kings of Greece at on either sides of the aisle, all of them stared at me with unreadable expressions. Yet I felt superior to them, with my blood stained arms. I did not walked towards Agamemnon, but I knelt respectfully. The dried blood pulled at the hairs on my arms as my arms reached the floor to balance me.  
  
"You called, my lord?"  
  
"Arise Anton! Arise!" Agamemnon laughed. He stood up and came towards me, smiling but not as a friend. I rose and met his eyes. He was looking at me as if I was his prize weapon. "I have sent for you to praise you for your performance in battle today."  
  
_I was fighting, not performing,_ I thought bitterly. I reminded silent.  
  
"I have never heard of you, and no one else seems to have either," Agamemnon began. "Yet you have proved yourself to be an able fighter, one who deserves respect. I have told your commanders not to order you about, for you have saved their lives and Greece's honor. You have the title as my second best fighter, second to Achilles of course." It was amusing to see how Agamemnon spoke Achilles name with as much bitterness as Achilles spoke his. "But with this title comes responsibilities. Those responsibilities are your loyalty to Greece, and to her rulers, who ever that might be." He's intentions of calling me to him were becoming clear. Although it was expected, anger rose out of me and I felt frustrated at Agamemnon. I stood before him with blood on my hands and he stood before me demanding loyalty. "You are not to hide the spoils of war for yourself, Anton, Greece is in need of those treasures as well. You must share your victories with me, Anton, to ensure the happiness and prosperity of Greece." I was silent for a moment, enraged and afraid of what I might do if I speak.  
  
"I shall always share my victories with you, Agamemnon," I spoke silently, holding back my anger like an untamed stallion.  
  
"That is good to know, that is always good to know."  
  
I left Agamemnon and his council of kings. He wants to share my victories, I shall share them with him then, every last one of them, I vowed. I did not return to my camp. The sun was still out, although just barely. I still had time to collect my victories for Agamemnon. I took a torch and lit it, for I knew I would be out well into the night.  
  
It was dark when I finally came to the destroyed village. The bodies still filled the streets and I blindly recounted my steps, meeting the dead corpse of each of my fallen enemies. I held the torch in front of me as I entered a few the houses, looking for something to carry my victories.  
  
In one of the houses on the outskirts I found a large fishing net. I grabbed it and dragged it outside with me. I first came to the two fallen soldiers, the first Trojan soldiers I had killed, both who I had been quite disappointed with in terms of fighting. I tried to drag the first killed to the net, but stopped when I realized that there could be no way that I could drag twenty-one dead bodies back to Agamemnon. "I only have to _share,"_ I reminded myself aloud.  
  
I threw the helmet off of the young boy and grabbed his amber hair. I took out my sword and swiftly cut his head off. I threw it on the net and did the same to the other soldier. My very first kill was not far from the two soldiers; I collected all the heads of my kill.  
  
No thoughts passed through my head, I was slicing effortlessly without thinking of the families, wives, or mothers who would be missing them. They had come into this war, they were the ones who brought sorrow to their families, not me.  
  
Finally I threw the twenty-first head into the net and closed the net. I took my torch from the ground and faced back towards the camp. I dragged the heads slowly behind me, dry blood staining the sands behind me.  
  
As I passed a large house, I heard the sound of a horse neighing. I dropped the net and investigated where the horse was. I found the horse behind the large house, eating on the last remaining blades of grass. The horse was confused and frightened, that could be seen. It was a beautiful white mare, the horse reminded me of my husband's own horse in Sparta.  
  
Cautiously I advanced towards the horse. At first it kicked its front legs in warning, but my eyes caught hers and she calmed herself quickly enough. I stroked her long, strong neck tenderly. I drew closer to her eyes and whispered; "You can help me share."  
  
I rode bare back to the camp. With one hand I held onto the horse's neck and in the other held onto the net with my offering to Agamemnon. Bent low behind the horse, I was smiling to myself, imagining Agamemnon's reaction once I presented him with his fishing net filled with severed heads.  
  
I rode up to the entrance of Agamemnon's tent. Swinging off the side of the horse, I dragged the net to the entranceway. "Take care of my horse, she's scared," I told them icily. "Agamemnon has sent for me to deliver my victories to him. I'm here to fulfill his orders."  
  
Dumbstruck by the offerings, the guards nodded and went to care for my horse. I entered the tent unescorted. Agamemnon had been talking in low voices with his advisors when I finally entered, and everything went silent once I stepped font on the walkway.  
  
I dragged the net in front of me, so it lay between Agamemnon and me. "My victories, my lord," I presented. He rose from his throne, his face frowned and his nose wriggled.  
  
"What is this?" asked one of the kings, outraged by the gift. I kicked the net roughly and the skulls could be heard rolling about inside. The kings cringed at the degusting sound.  
  
"You said I should _share_ my victories with you, Agamemnon, and here they are," I opened my arms towards the net. "I took the liberty to go and fetch my victories for you. Twenty-one, my lord, _twenty-one severed heads_, a sign of my loyalty."  
  
"Do you mock me, Anton!?" Agamemnon bellowed. I shook my head.  
  
"No, I do not, I'm just proving to you that it's impossible so me to _share_ my victories with you, Agamemnon," I corrected, my voice growing sharp. "My victories is this," I gestured to the heads, "not gold, women, or jewels. And this _can not_ be shared."  
  
"You are a fool to think you can. . . arrogant. . ." words failed Agamemnon and I felt even more superior to him than when I first entered the tent. "Anton," he spat my name. He spoke it now with bitterness, like when he spoke Achilles's name. "Leave me! The only _good_ you are to me is in battle, so there is no reason to see you in any other environment!"  
  
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"It seemed Agamemnon did not appreciate my gift," I jested. I looked to Helen to see her reaction. She only offered a warm smile. I could tell that pausing in my story bothered her, I could see in her eyes that she waited to hear the remaining of my story. "He took my horse from me that night. The one I took from the village. I laughed for _hours_ that night."  
  
"I remember Agamemnon well, and I can see him committing such an immature act," Helen agreed.  
  
"He was the only thing that proved to be a comedic relief to me while fighting the war, him as his constant conflict with Achilles," I continued, shifting to find a more comfortable position on the stone floor. "At times, I'll admit, I got paranoid with the conflicts, especially when _I_ was dragged into them. . ."

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Please Read and Review! I'm not going to change the title, Helen's Hero is good enough. Thanks for the reviews! 


	6. Remaining Fire

A/N Thanks for the reviews!  
  
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I came back to my tent, stalking through the crowds of cheering men. Everyone was in high spirits and was reenacting their own battles scenes, as if it really was all but a performance like Agamemnon said.  
  
The village was not rich, and the men did not trade as much gold and silver as they would have liked, but they did with what they had. Wooden crafts, swords, and of course women. I couldn't interfere this time, the battle was done and the men could turn their attention to anything they liked.  
  
On my way to my tent, one of the officers informed me that the Greek army was to confront Hector and his mighty Trojan party in three nights. The naïve messenger had used the phrase; "The Kings of Greece will confront Troy, along with the company of Greece's army and finest men."  
  
"Kings of Greece," I spat as I flung the flaps of my tent open. I jumped in surprise at who was standing in the center of my tent.  
  
"Anton, it seems the scared boy I met the other day has been replaced with a hero," Achilles smirked. He eyed my two blades at my side and then looked at me again. "They say you work wonders with two blades."  
  
"I do," I said firmly. I was not going to stutter. He was no longer the only worthy warrior of Greece, I had proven myself just as brutal and fierce as him. My gray eyes held his fiery blue eyes, and I silently told him that I sought to be his equal. There was a small reaction this is message.  
  
In a blink of the eye, Achilles unsheathed his sword and stabbed towards me. I have to respond quickly and drew one of my blades to block the blow. For a moment my face had become soft from fear and surprise, but it quickly resumed its cold and stern expression from before. "I wonder whether you are talented with a single blade though, Anton," he growled.  
  
What I said next could have been the death of me, but it was a risk I was willing to take at the time; "I had to kill a man to get two swords."  
  
We remained still, captured in our battle pose. His body leant forward and his sword thrust towards me while I was reclined backwards and my sword slid neatly in between the tip of his and my stomach. "Good answer," he chuckled as he slid back in a standing position, sheathing his sword slowly. All the while he stared at me, trying to get the same squirming reaction I had given him earlier. But I refused to be the boy again.  
  
As I look back on this moment, I'm amazed by how much I changed since that morning. I assume the heat of the battle was still lingering around my restless spirit, intoxicating it and giving it a new zest for rebellion and action.  
  
What captures me the most when I remember this moment, is what Achilles did next. His action was frightening, an action that threatened my prosper in the Greek army.  
  
Once his sword was sheathed he rushed towards me, his steps long and powerful. I knew what he had in mind. He wanted my in lust and he wanted me to be in awe of his empowerment over me. I tried to step back, but he grabbed me by my shoulders and swung me into the tent, closing the flaps quickly behind.  
  
Thankfully I kept my balance. I was tempted to use my swords, but I knew they would be no use. If I had chosen to engage in battle with him, I would have been killed. Instead I tried to stand my grounds as I warrior, as a man would do.  
  
He came at me once again. He grabbed me roughly and I could see in his eyes that he meant for this experience to be rough. The heat radiantly from him was immense, and I found myself pulled towards me. However I did not let my stare to flutter. "The fire of killing is still inside of you, Anton," he grinned seductively. He pulled my helmet off, strands of loose hair fell forward. I hoped the few scars from the battle hid my feminine face. He held my face with one hand, the other was still gripped on my shoulder. His thumb traced the curves of my lips in a rush manner. "Let us release this fury upon one another, Anton, let us release it tonight."  
  
His lips dove for mine. For a moment they connected and his devilish tongue demanded entrance to explore the luring territories of my mouth, but I refused to give him that much. I craved the passion he craved, but I need that if I let it continue further there would have been no stopping it. I would have been exposed.  
  
I violently shoved him away from me, away from his rough kiss. His eyes were furious but seemed to be even more enticed by my sign of rebellion. The restless warrior waited for an explanation. "I have a wife," I lied. "I save my passionate fury for her alone. Go to your slave girl to discharge your own passion, Achilles."  
  
His hands let me loose and he stepped back. He was offended, that much could have been seen. Yet I knew he would not hurt me, because he was too ashamed to. To hurt me would to prove that Achilles was jealous and couldn't have everything he wanted. I was unattainable to him, but he did not want me to know that he realized this. Bitterly he turned away, "You'll find soon that a woman won't be able to endure that passion. When you come to this realization, it will be too late for our partnership, Anton."  
  
He thought he would have the last laugh in this situation, but I knew better. I had more at stake than a few lonely nights.  
  
"I shall release my fury on the girl tonight," he looked back at me before leaving. "I hear that you had made friends with the slave before she was given to me. Odd, I never heard of friends who set beasts to ravish them."  
  
Breisis. My heart was thundering with anger once again. I would have challenged him if he had been any other man on that island, but he was Achilles, a fighter favored by the gods and a god himself on the battlefield. It took much of my energy to keep my feet still.  
  
I was ashamed at myself. My dream, if my earlier analyze had been correct, was going to play itself out by the end of that night, because of me. Breisis would never understand why Achilles took her in such rage and power, but I would and that was a thought I had to live with forever. Yet a small part of me told me that the dream was not about that night, but about another day soon to come.  
  
A/N Sorry this took me so long., I had finals. Did good if u were wondering. R&R! 


	7. Dreams and Nightmares

A/N Thanks for the reviews! Keep reviewing!  
  
Don't own Troy but I do own Anton and Aretha!  
  
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I slept lightly that night. I thrashed about repeatedly, covered in cold sweat. My dreams were fleeting, I remember only glimpses of a few. The one that I remember the clearest was a dream that showed me a vision of the future.  
  
I was standing before an alter on a balcony over looking a burning city. Everything was in shadows except for the flames, they were clear and in focus. I could hear screams and I could smell death, blood, raw metallic- coppery blood. From behind a sword struck me and I fell to my knees, but I turned my body around, my swords slicing through the air after me and striking my attacker across the knees. He fell too, a loud scream was heard from a close distance and a shadowy figure ran towards us. I was dead, I could feel death coming for me, but I still attacked. Unfortunately the only part of his body I could reach with my draining strength was his right ankle.  
  
That dream was quick and was finished before I saw the face of the man I battled. I believe the reason this dream was the only one I could remember was because it was the last dream I had before I was pull out of my sleep by two clammy hands stroking my face.  
  
I immediately pulled my dagger out from below my pillow and I prepared to strike, but the person who awoke me tumbled backwards in fright, covering her face as the tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "Breisis," I sighed in relief and my dagger fell from my hands as I joined her on the floor, covering her with my arms. Her whole body was shaking, no doubt Achilles had taken her in passion early that night. I looked down at her once I realized this; "Why are you here, Breisis? What is the matter?" I had wanted so badly to comfort her, to protect her that I had forgotten to question how and why she was in my tent.  
  
"Anton, oh Anton!" she whimpered. I shushed her and held her closer to me. Her silky arms wrapped around my waist and she fell deeper into my body, her head resting on my firm stomach. "Anton, Anton. . ." she repeated my name, but it wasn't in love but in regret and in fear.  
  
"Breisis, what is it?" I took her face in my hands and made her meet my eyes. They flooded with tears and she burst in cries. She swung her arms around my neck and fell onto me, almost knocking me to the floor.  
  
"Achilles. . . he took me tonight," she whispered quickly in my ears. I stroked her hair and lowered my eyes guiltily. 'Of course he did, I know, I was the one who sent him,' I wanted to say aloud but I did not want to break her even more. Besides, it seemed she wished to say even more on the matter. "I. . . I didn't know. . . it just came. . ."  
  
"What, Breisis, what 'came'?" I asked gently. She sobbed even louder. I knew no one would bother me, I was above all other soldiers besides Achilles, no one would dare bother me at night. This fact arose the question of Achilles in my mind, and how Breisis came to my tent at this hour. Surely Achilles would have missed his slave-girls company, and I feared that once he discovered her location, I would be faced with even greater danger than that which I had faced in the battlefield.  
  
"At the height of it. . . I'm just a virgin, I could not control it," I was beginning to understand, or so I thought. My suspicions were that Breisis meant she had enjoyed herself somewhat during the act with Achilles, that she had experienced an orgasm. I was slightly relieved, a less guilty but even more guilty. She had enjoyed herself, that made me less guilty but the fact that I had been responsible for her loss of virginity caused me even more guilt. Yet this was not what she had come to me for, she had come to tell me something that would be even more of a burden on my conscious.  
  
"It's alright, Breisis, Apollo will not judge you," I tried to assure her, but she shook her head rapidly.  
  
"I m-moaned. . . I moaned y-your name. . . Anton! He was furious!" My whole world seemed to stop as her words hit me. The only thought racing through my head was 'Run! Run to Agamemnon, he'll protect you! Ask for forgiveness and he'll protect you!' However I knew this was a lie, if anything Agamemnon would have given me up to Achilles quicker than Achilles would come for me. I looked to the entrance to my tent, my heart racing. "Anton. . .please run with me. . . I can bring you to Troy, we'll be safe there," Breisis offered. "My uncle, the King of Troy, will protect us. You can fight with Hector to defeat Greece."  
  
I looked to her, my eyes widened and searching. "Defeat Greece. . ." I repeated. The thought struck me oddly. Oddly because I had considered this thought for a moment. To defeat Greece would have ruined me, but for a moment I thought it would save me. Sure I could have ran to Troy with her and together we would survive, but then I would be discovered. I had come to Troy with the intention to fight and return to Greece, return to my old life but with a new demeanor. To return with a new pride, not the pride of a woman, but with the pride of a man. My absence would have gone unnoticed and my return would have too.  
  
If I would leave to Troy's walls with Breisis, the former priestess would demand a relationship with the man who saved her, a love with Anton. Eventually something would occur and my disguise would be ruined, which would result in my ruin. If only I had been born a man, I would have raced out of that camp faster than the wind, but since I was a woman I was trapped.  
  
"I can't," I told her, releasing her from my embrace and sliding away from her. My robe was large enough to cover my legs, I was not worried, but I was worried of who might have walked through my tent any moment. "Breisis I can't. . . Greece is-"  
  
"I know your home," she finished for me. She had finished my sentence incorrectly. I didn't care about Greece half as much as she thought. "But Anton, if we do not leave tonight, you'll never see your home again."  
  
I crawled back to my covers and laid on my back, thinking desperately for a way out. But I was cornered. If Achilles came for me, he would eventually kill me and my gender would be discovered. I would die in shame for the laws I broke. If I ran to Troy my gender would be embarrassingly discovered and most likely I would be killed. Again I would die in shame. "You go, Breisis, go back home. This war should not be for you."  
  
"Anton, please come with me! I won't be able to. . . you have taken so much from me, too much that I would die without you," she climbed next to me. "Anton, please. I said your name because it was you I wanted. I want you alive and well, and with me."  
  
I could have laughed. Breisis was pledging her love for me, after all she had done to ruin my chances of surviving. Love was not the answer to this riddle, and I felt like explaining this to Breisis, but her eyes revealed to me that she would have never understood. I stood up and went to my armor and weapons. "Breisis, I can't run."  
  
"This is not about pride!" she got to her feet and I could hear the impatience in her voice.  
  
"And this is not about love!" I retorted, turning to my side to see her from the corner of my eye. She froze and I could almost see her heart shattering in her eyes. "There is no way I could survive this either way. I wish you could understand, but you can never. If you did, you could never love me."  
  
She frowned and her mouth opened to reply, but someone interrupted our conversation. A messenger entered my tent and cleared his throat. He was the Myrmidon that I had spoken to when looking for Achilles, when I had delivered Breisis to him. He had been the only Myrmidon I had encountered before, except for Achilles of course. "Achilles wishes to speak with you, my lord," he informed me, observing the scene he had walked in on.  
  
With my sword in hand, I felt like lashing out at the messenger, merely because I was doomed and wanted to kill more men before my own bitter end. But I resisted the temptation. I picked up my other sword, but he stopped me. "He requests that you bring no weapons or armor, my lord."  
  
Hand-to-hand combat. I dreaded it, because as a woman I was never trained in hand-to-hand combat. I was not as strong as a man, and surely I had no chance against Achilles.  
  
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"So you and Achilles became rivals?" Helen asked, amused.  
  
"You jump to conclusions, Helen," I grinned. A new band was beginning to play outside. I tried to estimate how much longer it would take for me to finish my story. The night seemed to be young, but it had to end eventually. Paris must be missing the company of his prize. "Was it worth it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Coming here? Starting this war, I mean. Many died because of what you and Paris committed," I looked into her eyes, trying to find doubt or something weakening. But I only found confidence and strength.  
  
"Many have died because of what you did," she replied bluntly. "Even more people have been affected emotionally. You left many people heart-broken."  
  
"Breisis and Achilles? No, they aren't heart-broken," I shook my head, chuckling softly. "Breisis is embarrassed and Achilles is frustrated. In the heat of war, we forgot what love really meant."  
  
"But you told me that you loved Breisis," she reminded me sharply.  
  
"I did," I nodded. "I loved fighting too. I loved the feeling of my sword slicing through a man's throat. I cherish the feel of hot blood lacing through my fingertips. I love the idea of being a hero. I love being alive here with you, with someone who loves my story, my history. I'm a woman, I fall easily in love, foolishly."  
  
"I wish you could stay alive, Aretha, so that you could continue loving these things," Helen sighed, looking at me dreamily.  
  
"No one wishes I could live more than I do, Helen. But I wish that if Aretha can not live through tomorrow, Anton will," I told her. "Anton should survive the years after Aretha."  
  
"Why not Aretha?"  
  
"Because I do not love her," I explained. "Anton saved me, Aretha was only a shell of self-hatred and dissatisfaction. Anton brought light to be shadowy world." I looked to her to see if she comprehended what I was saying, "It is hard to explain."  
  
"I think I understand," she told me. I think she did too. If anyone could understand it would be her. I was glad I was spending my last night alive with Helen, with someone who cared for me enough to listen to me.  
  
"Now, back to my story," I continued, knowing that I could not waste any more time with side-conversations. The night could have very well died at any moment. . .  
  
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A/N Read and Review! My computer is a bit funky lately and I can't use the edit-thingy on fanfiction because of it. So all thoughts as in '-'  
  
Sorry if it was a boring chapter, it's suppose to be building up for the next chapter, not to mention the later chapters. Hehehe! 


	8. Joint Revenge

A/N Thanks for the reviews! Sorry this took so long!  
  
I've decided to write Achilles's character along the lines of his character in the Iliad, and I remind you that I've only read about the Iliad on the internet. Correct me if I'm wrong on anything!  
  
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I followed the messenger silently. The men around us turned to watch me walk my last walk. The messenger was leading me to a sand dune on the outskirts of the camp. I could see Achilles waiting for my arrival. I tried to hide my fear.  
  
The air was cool and brisk, the sun was beginning to rise above the horizon. I looked out to the sea. The water was still black with darkness, but some light reflected off the waves and I watched as the seagulls glide smoothly in the wind. It was a beautiful sight, and perhaps the last sight Anton would see.  
  
At the bottom of the dune the messenger stopped. He turned to me and I could have sworn I saw mockery in his eyes for a moment. If I had my swords in hand I would have killed him, I would have killed every man on my way to Achilles. I would have killed just for the sake of killing, because in a moment I knew I was going to be killed. Were I to be killed, I would have liked to kill others on my way to death. Yet it seemed Achilles was not going to give me my death wish.  
  
Achilles was facing the sea. He wore a thin blue robe and was barefoot. As I climb the dune I kept my eyes on him, waiting to see when he would attack. He never turned to me and neither did he hurt me.  
  
"You sent for me," my voice was bitter. I wasn't going to be fearful of him, I wasn't going to be like all the others who coward under the great Achilles. He didn't respond immediately. As I stood waiting for him to speak I heard a commotion in the camp behind us. I turned and saw a large group of Spartan soldiers at the opening of my tent. Although I could not see it clearly, I heard Briseis scream and the laughter of the soldiers. "Briseis," I whispered and frowned. I moved towards the end of the dune, but Achilles grabbed hold of my arm.  
  
"It's Agamemnon," he answered the question I hadn't even asked. His eyes seemed to command me to stop, to relax. I could see in the depths of his eyes that I was in no danger of being harmed, at least not at the time. "A priest in Troy has sent a plague upon our troops," he explained, releasing me and turning back to the scenery of the sea. "The priest is the father of Agamemnon's slave-girl. To stop the plague from spreading even more within our troops, Agamemnon gave up his slave-girl to the priest."  
  
I thought about this for a moment. I had never noticed a plague in our troops, but then again I haven't been entirely involved with the other troops. Agamemnon gave me the status of a soldier who stood above other soldiers. I had Agamemnon to thank for saving me from witnessing the plague.  
  
"For compensation, Agamemnon has taken Briseis as his new slave-girl," Achilles finished, his voice heavy with anger. I turned back to my tent and I could barely see the struggle between the soldiers and Briseis.  
  
"When did you know of this?" I asked, my eyes still watching them taking her away. "And why are you telling me this?"  
  
"Right after I laid with Briseis, after she called your name out at the height of our intercourse," he turned slightly to me and smirked devilishly. "I left in search for you at first, I wanted to confront you on this matter. Possibly kill you," I could tell by his pause and searching eyes that he was looking for some kind of reaction from me, but I remained calm and unafraid. "Then the news was told to me, and suddenly you weren't the one I wanted to kill."  
  
"That still doesn't answer why you came to me," I said evenly.  
  
"Agamemnon is taking away Briseis from both of us," Achilles explained. "To have our revenge we should take something from him."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"His strength."  
  
"His strength? How are we meant to do that?" I laughed. He glared at me and my grin disintegrated immediately. "How do you suppose we do that?"  
  
"His planning on confronting the Trojans today, I am pulling my troops out of the battle," he told me. "I understand that you command no troops of your own, but I believe you should pull yourself out of the battle. Less men will fight with confidence when they see that the two greatest warriors have abandoned them."  
  
"And this will get us Briseis back?"  
  
"Yes, it will show Agamemnon that he can not control us as petty servants any longer."  
  
I paused for a moment to understand this. I could see the logic in his plan, but one minor detail still bothered me. "Do you love Briseis?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you love her? To risk such a plan, simply to win her back. . . it seems like you do," I said, afraid of what emotions I might draw from him. He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to figure out how I had come up with such a question, or how I had the guts to ask it. Then he unexpectedly burst into laughter.  
  
"Anton! You sound like what Paris would sound like," he cried, whipping his eyes from the tears. "Love! She is my slave-girl, my possession. I love her as much as my sword, and if Agamemnon had taken my sword I would had done the same thing."  
  
"You would have called me to you?" I raised an eyebrow. Achilles' laughter slowly faded, but he still chuckled and whipped at his eyes. I felt a little bit angry with the great warrior, insulted almost that he would compare Briseis's value as a living being with a sword.  
  
"Perhaps," he shrugged. "You have defined me once, and I know that you do not take a liking to our 'fearless' leader anymore than I do. Also, when Briseis called your name out, I knew that something has built between the two of you. I knew this plan would seem all the more pleasing to you because of her."  
  
"What will you do with her once Agamemnon returns her," I felt as if I spoke of an object and not the beautiful and delicate Briseis.  
  
"She'll be my company as I watch Greece fall to Troy," he supposed. "Or perhaps we'll continue where we left off," he grinned at me. Obviously he wanted to see me respond to this, he wanted to see me boil with anger or envy. I gave him nothing but a cold stare and a blank expression.  
  
"Fine," I answered to his proposal. "I'll pull myself out of this battle. But it is not for you or Briseis." He raised an eyebrow curiously.  
  
"Really? Then why?"  
  
"It is for me," I responded. I crossed my arms. I could feel my small breasts under the cloth of my tunic. To refuse Achilles offer would be placing myself in danger of being discovered. He might have grown angry at me and might have confronted me at an unexpected nightfall. He may have murdered me while I slept or he may have forced me into the act that he so desperately wanted from me. Anything was possible with Achilles, he was a wild warrior with no boundaries or order. So much could be told from looking into his eyes. "I do this for me alone, not for Briseis. You may do what you will with her. It's no concern of mine."  
  
With that I slide done the side of the dune and headed back to the camp, never once looking back at Achilles. Yet I could imagine his frustrated stare as he watched me walk away from him, having failed to deliver the reactions he had been waiting for. Yet Achilles had to learn, like Agamemnon had learn, I was not there to perform.  
  
I walked swiftly to my tent, ignoring the whispers of the other men. Again I wished I had my weapons by my side to silence them, but I had to endure their ignorance. The sand at the entrance to my tent was greatly disturbed and scattered. When I entered my tent I saw my possessions tossed on the floor and buried in sand almost.  
  
Seeing this only add fuel to my anger. Agamemnon had sent soldiers to capture Briseis and in the process had ruined my tent. My tent was my sanctuary, but now Agamemnon had disturbed it. 'I'm going to enjoy watching him suffer.'  
  
A/N Sorry again for it being so short and stuff. Now the story is going to be written more by the timeline of the movie.  
  
Review! 


	9. Aretha Awaits a Hero

A/N Thanks for the reviews, sorry this took so long again.  
  
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It's two different things, fighting in a battle and witnessing a battle.  
  
I had fought in a battle. Men had died because of my brut strength and skill with the sword. The beating of a human's heart faded at the end of our encounters. A powerful rush coursed through my veins, all the way to my fingertips, to the hand that held the sword that sliced through another man's throat. War, death, survival, and power were some of the few emotions that swam through my mind.  
  
But to witness a battle is entirely different on so many levels. There was no beauty or joy as you watch a warrior survive. The blood and gore was not empowering, but disguising and shook your very core. Everyone looked barbaric; no one was a hero or a villain. The sound of swords clashing was not musical, but sounded like the fangs of a bloodthirsty beast. Disaster, misery, fear and guilt were some of the few horrific emotions that swam through my mind as I watched the battle from a hilltop.  
  
Achilles and his men surrounded me. Although I was not a part of the battle, I swore my two swords at my side and my armor. I felt safer with my weapons near me, especially since I was in the company of the lustful Achilles.  
  
Yet once the war began I ignored Achilles presence and my mind wondered. It came to the question of war. I watched Paris crawl back to his brother for safety, and like the other men I thought it was amusing to see the blood stained naïve prince cower {1}. It made me feel like I was better than the royal brat, but once the real fighting began, once the uninvolved soldiers in both armies fought, my amusement withered.  
  
Young soldiers died along with the old. Whether experienced or not, they died. I was surprised by how many men were willing to give their lives for the wife of someone else. Helen, if won back, probably would never meet any of the soldiers who fought for her. The Trojan warriors most likely would never be blessed with her thanks. It was entirely pointless, this war. There was no glory to won, only for Agamemnon and the other kings of Greece. Yet it wasn't their lives that were being sacrificed.  
  
What also bothered me was the fact that I wasn't sacrificing my life with the other soldiers, and all because of a petty argument with Agamemnon and my fear of Achilles. Achilles could have killed me for saying no to his plan, or I could have taken the chance of dying honorably in battle. One always dies honorably in battle, because to be in a battle is honorable. If someone should no honor a man who has died in battle, than that person has no heart nor soul, and least of all an understanding of glory. Whether the man is your enemy or not, he fought for his own family and ideals, he raises above the men who philosophize about the ideals of a perfect world, because a soldier fights for those ideals instead of sitting back and talking into the night. Whether their ideals were right or wrong, they gave their lives to it, and that takes courage.  
  
"Look at them, Anton," Achilles stepped next to me. He was proud of his work, proud that Greece was failing. I looked at him, my eyes dark with hatred and disgust. Achilles was no hero, he was the disaster that was killing Greek soldiers. "Agamemnon needs us."  
  
"Greece needs us," I corrected looking at the battlefield as the Greeks fell back. The smell of blood was strong. "I should have declined this plan of yours."  
  
"Greece? What has Greece done for you, Anton? I can tell from your armor that you are no son of any king, most likely a farmer, yes?" I remained silent, not wishing to lie anymore.  
  
"Those soldiers out there, more than half of them are farmer boys, or merchant's sons," I retorted. "No matter what you say, Achilles, you can not justify your abandonment of Greece today." I looked at him sternly, my arms cross, my lips thin. "You have an argument with Agamemnon, and now it is settle."  
  
"It's not settle until he returns what is rightfully mine!" Achilles growled. The hero was no use to being talked down to, but I was tired of trying to save myself from dying by his hands. Watching the battle showed me that all things end in death. It did not matter so much at the time.  
  
"How is she rightfully yours? She belongs to herself, to Apollo, and to Troy not you or me," I told him. "You want him to return to you a human being? She was born to her mother, not to you. Up until three days ago she did not even know you, her 'owner'. And you did not know her then either."  
  
"Silence yourself, Anton, you anger me," he whispered and turned away. I was not done.  
  
"Today I discovered that this war is pointless to us soldiers," I called out to him, not walking after him. He paused and waited for me to finish what I had to say. "Helen is not our prize. Agamemnon wants land and power, something we foot soldiers will never have unless we marry a rich bride. So why, Achilles, why have we come here?"  
  
"To find immortality, glory and to become heroes," he glanced back to me, his voice calm.  
  
"Immortality we can have by writing a book. To find glory all you need is to find a cure to a disease," I laughed bitterly. "And to become a hero? How, by taking slave girls and abandoning our troops to prove something to an arrogant king? If these are the things that we have come for, then why does it feel like the rewards are empty rather than fulfilling?"  
  
"We all have different views, Anton," Achilles turned to face me. His men looked to their commander, unsure of what reaction he'll have. "Some people see the sky as blue, others see it as gray. You speak for yourself when you say this, those soldiers may have come here for other reasons and may have found fulfillment already. You are not the voice of Greece, you are the voice of Anton, and Anton alone."  
  
But there was an effect in his eyes; I could see it. I could tell that what I said bothered him, or uncovered some hidden truth within his own mind. "Then hear me, hear the voice of Anton," I held my head up, looking down at him. "This is the first and last time I pull myself out of a battle on your request. My pride is satisfied and my conscious is now wounded, I am ready for the battlefield."  
  
"And who do you do this for? Not for Briseis, nor for me, then who? You stepped out of battle because of yourself, do you do it to please yourself again?" Achilles retorted, he wanted to place me in the same position I had placed him.  
  
"I do it for Aretha," I spoke my real name. It felt odd. It was as if a great burden had been lifted, even though the secret was still secure.  
  
"And who is she? Your wife, lover boy?"  
  
"She awaits me in Greece, she awaits for me to come back a hero, not a spoiled brat," I spat. There was an intense silence between Achilles and me. His eyes were at a new level of rage, and I saw his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. I turned my back on him, closing my eyes as I turned, truly afraid of what he might have done in rage. I walked back to my tent, without encountering anyone on the way.  
  
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I was amazed that I lived to see my tent once again. As I walked through the troops, many looked my way with confused stares. No doubt they wondered where I had been the entire afternoon, and why my armor bore no new stains of blood. Although they would never say it, I knew they believed me as a betrayer. It was evident in their eyes.  
  
There had been no way Greece could have won that day. Many had died from the plague, and the strength of Achilles's men was absent from the field. I wondered if my presence would have made any difference.  
  
As I stalked through the Spartan quarters, I heard a wailing man to my side. I paused and looked over, wanting to see how severe his battle-wounds were. At least five men crowded over him. I could hear his cries; "Kill me now! The pain! Hades take me! Zeus have mercy!" Two of the men moved to get fresh medical supplies, and I managed to have a glimpse of the injured man. My heart stopped for a moment as my past stared at me with teary eyes and a bloodstained face.  
  
My husband had suffered. Although I felt no real love for the man, I felt as if I was being disloyal to him, standing and watching while I was meant to be back in Sparta tending to the house.  
  
He was going to die, I could tell from the blood all around him. There was a large gash in his stomach, his insides pumped blood out with each exhale. I could see it in his eyes too, I could see that my husband was dying. Even though he begged for death, his eyes showed that he was afraid of dying so soon.  
  
Disgustingly I thought of something funny as the two men blocked my view once again. No doubt his possession would be sent to his wife in Sparta, but I wondered if I would make it. With both Achilles and Agamemnon shooting their deathly glares my way, and not to mention the Trojan army, my chances of surviving were slim.  
  
I watched my husband being lifted off the floor and carried into one of the nearby tents. As his wife, I never knew whether his boasting were true or not, whether he was a good fighter or a horrible fighter. 'If you had been in the battle today, you would have seen him in action,' she scolded herself.  
  
Not stopping to witness any more casualties being dragged off, I finally came to my tent. I pushed open the flaps. Sitting across the entrance, rolled up in a torn blanket, was Briseis. "Anton, you're alive!" she said in relief and scrabbled to her feet.  
  
I was in a foul mood, and seeing an uninvited person in my tent did not help my mood. Even if that person was Breseis, I was growing weary of having people invading my personal space. "Breseis," I growled, "you belong to Achilles now. You have given me enough grief, priestess." She was taken back by my harsh tone.  
  
"Anton, why are you angry with me? What have I done?" she pleaded. I looked away from her beautiful eyes, too afraid that they might make me weak.  
  
"Please, Breseis, go," I repeated. "It would be the best for both of us." Breseis leaned forward, unsurely placing her hands on my chest.  
  
"Your heart is good, Anton, why must we be enemies?" she rested her head on my chest. This was not what I wanted. I did not want to comfort her, but wanted her gone. Yet something inside of her pulled me into her trap.  
  
I wrapped my arms slowly around her waist, I kissed the top of her head gently and whispered; "I am only your enemy if you chose me to be, Breseis."  
  
"I did not chose for this war to happen," she shook her head. I could hear the tears forming in her eyes. She lifted her head up and our eyes connected once again. "I did not chose to fall in love with an enemy."  
  
There wasn't anything I could say to this. I leaned forward, our eyes closed themselves as our lips brushed against each other. She pushed her lips into my mine and she delivered a hurried, passionate kiss. I held her tightly to me after that kiss, knowing with some kind of invisible sense, that it would be the last time I would be able to hold her as Anton.  
  
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"Ah, so we reach the end of our story?" Helen smiled. "I never realized what a short time you spent with the Greeks."  
  
"You mean how short Anton's life was? Yes, it was a small era, a wonderful age to live in," I smirked. We were reaching the end of my tale. Strangely enough, I didn't want it to be the end. Like a coward, I feared the end, because I didn't even know what it would be like.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I looked at Helen for strength to continue, looking to my fan to give me the support I needed in my last hours of life.  
  
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A/N Yes it's true, it's reaching the end. But it won't be done in like two chapters, I promise I won't rush it. Sorry for all the bad spelling and stuff, I hate rereading my stuff. Hehe, oh-so-lazy.  
  
But that doesn't mean you can be lazy, so please review!  
  
{1} Thanks soymaid! 


	10. Back in Battle

A/N Thanks for all those wonderful reviews! Everyone!

This took so long for a number of reasons; one was I was REALLY NOT in the writing mood lately, haven't been getting a good amount of sleep, another reason is I have forgotten how the movie goes. Whether Patroclus dies at night or during the day, I THINK Troy raided the Greeks at night in the movie, the same night they won over the Greeks in the first fight-thingy.

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I suppose I awoke that night like all the other men. The Trojans had taken their easy victory as a sign to strike fast. I saw this as the ideal moment to redeem myself.

Luckily only a small troop of Trojans raided our campsite and they attacked the eastern outskirts, where Myrmidons rested. Obviously their sources knew where Achilles camped, where his men laid down their weapons for the evening. The idea of their attack was wise, but actually following through with their plan proved fatal, both for Troy and for me.

That night I had slept lightly, and with my swords close by. I had angered Achilles, that was enough said. Agamemnon had tried to send for me, but I ignored his messages. I told the servant who came to me that I would fight for the king when the next occasion called for it. Throughout that night I was in suspense that Agamemnon would send even more messages, perhaps even a few soldiers to drag me to him.

However, the king seemed to trust the three messengers that relayed my consistent response, and I was left alone in my peace. I didn't have my peace in solitude; I had a growing uneasiness inside of me. My mind kept returning to Sparta. If my husband had died that night, then there really wasn't anything left in Sparta for me. Still, the thought of home called to me. I had the urge to flee Troy, to my home even to my nonexistence in Greece. Something within told me that Anton would not succeed in this war.

It haunted my dreams. I didn't know when I would fall in battle, yet I knew I would. I would awake suddenly, without memory of my disturbing dreams. My mind seemed to be taunting me, hiding my dreams from me and creating shadows of doubt.

I was close to insanity when the sound of battle issued from the eastern camps. My body was almost thankful for battle – it was something I knew I could handle. I quickly slipped my armor on and grabbed my swords before racing out to the fight.

Arrows flew over the sand dunes to the Greek soldiers. On my way to the battlefield, I stole an abandoned shield from outside a tent. Every time a new force of arrows speared through the air down upon us, I would bend low with the shield over my body to deflect the arrows.

The Myrmidons were fighting it seemed. At first I thought it could be due to my lecture that Achilles decided to rejoin the war. Everyone had his different thoughts on why Achilles decided to fight, but everyone thought he was fighting that night.

Truly he was lying in his tent with Briseis, and it was his young companion Patroclus who led the men into battle. No one could tell the difference, not even I.

"Good to see you finally came to your senses," I called out as I came up behind him. It was the only way I could express my apology to him, by fighting with him. He turned to me, but I could not see his face behind his helmet. He didn't speak to me. I took this has his acceptance of my apology.

Rolls of flame raced down the sand dunes as we ran up the hills to meet the Trojans. Once our forces struck the Trojans', I lost my sight of Achilles. I parried with five Trojans, killing three of them and wounding the other two. I would have killed the last two, but my eyes caught on to larger prey.

Hector jumped from his stallion onto the already bloody ground. I ran through the crowd, cutting those down who stood in my way. All my mind could think of was how wonderful it would be to defeat the famed Hector of Troy. I would give into death with a sense of peace if I could bring Hector to his first. A large part of me knew that Anton would be defeated in this war, and this part of me seemed to grow in anxiety as I brought my sword to Hector in battle.

He seemed to have sensed my restlessness for a fight, because he turned as I drew towards him from behind. We both stood facing one another for a moment, time seeming to have frozen for us. A few observed us. The Greeks saw a shred of hope; one of their best warriors was fighting once again. The Trojans were nervous; apparently they knew of my skills in battle.

I struck first, and time regained its speed. Hector was stronger than me, his body was wider than my scrawny figure. Yet I had speed and two blades while he held only one. I danced around him, striking with one blade to distract him before bring the second down upon him. He guarded against my first blade and pushed me from him. I spun back, swinging my second sword against his shoulder. He groaned in pain as I rolled on the sandy floor, away from his reach. I crouched like cat preparing to pounce. My legs moved to lounge forward, but a sharp piercing pain struck through my armor from behind.

I hit the ground and rolled onto my back, holding my swords over my chest. A frightened looking warrior stood over me, holding a stained spear. From the look of his eyes, he didn't understand what he had just done. The heat of the battle had swept him off his feet.

My vision began to blur. The wound was deep, my armor was too old to guard against such an under-hand attack. I watched as a Greek soldier tore down the cowardly fighter. Despite my pain, I laughed, spitting up a small morsel of blood. "You Trojans fight like dogs!" I shouted. I arched my back so I could see Hector standing over me, motionless. "No one is noble in battle, prince, don't look so shocked," I grinned, my teeth red with blood.

I rested my back on the ground again. Images passed through my mind. My home in Sparta, the fields with all the horses. Briseis crying, Achilles fighting. All these things came to my mind as my arms fell limp over my body. I could hear my heart racing, it was painful as my chest rose and fell with each breathe.

As darkness entered my sight, I struggled to lift my arms. I couldn't die, I wasn't a hero yet. Hector still stood; a cut on his shoulder wasn't enough for me. My mind knew I was defeated, but my heart denied it to the very last moment of my consciousness.

My head hit the floor. I could only see shadows. My eyes slowly closed and I watched as a large shadow passed over me. I heard the battle-cry of the Trojan prince and the shouts of encouragement from the Greeks; "Achilles! Achilles!"

Darkness wrapped itself around my broken body just as I heard another body fall beside me.

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A/N Hope you all like this chapter! It took forever, I know. School has started and everything is a bit crazy. I'm starting to do basketball again and other sports so I'm not at home as much. But I'll update relatively soon! Promise!


	11. To Strike a Deal

A/N Sorry for the delay and I don't own anything except for Anton/Aretha

Thank you to Soymaid for being my beta, she is the bomb! We should all bow down to her. It'd be so funny if she has to revise her own praise sentence!

MischiefHobbit you scared me for a moment there, I thought you were going to say my story was bad from reading the start of your review, but I'm glad I've restored your hope. There are a lot of great stories out there, but you just need to weed the bad ones out first.

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My vision was present only in small glimpses, and sometimes the little that I saw did not seem right. I think my mind was jumping to the past to the present and also my fantasies and mind blended in the dizzying picture.

What I did know for sure was that I was still in Troy; I was alive. I could tell I was alive because someone kept telling me I was. Someone with a deep and gentle voice was whispering in my ear. Or perhaps he was speaking normally; I had no sense of direction at the time.

I may have seen him in a few of my brief glimpses into the conscious and present world, but I doubted it. The only man I saw over me was a man who almost looked like the Greek hero, Odysseus. It would be ludicrous to think that Odysseus, an important factor to Greece's success would be whispering encouragements to the soldier who had failed to kill Hector.

But Achilles had killed Hector hadn't he? I remember Achilles's name being called out at the end of the battle. I suppose I just assumed he would finish off where I had left off, that if I were incapable of killing the Trojan Prince, Achilles would be. In my unstable semi-conscious state of mind, I was certain Achilles had killed Hector. Troy was going to fall.

"_Your war brings me tarnished souls! They wonder here blind, deaf and dumb, I do not have the time to find them their proper respect."_ These words came to me oddly enough. At first I didn't remember where I had heard this, but it was familiar. 'Oh yes, Hades, how could I forget,' I thought or spoke once I remembered the dream. 'So odd, that he should be mad at me. Why is it the concern of a woman's?'

"I know, I know, Anton, you must not fret," the voice told me. Had I been upsetting myself? "You're secret is safe with me."

The flower was fighting against the winter, it wanted to keep its warmth. But the heat, the heat was too much for the flower. The flower had been naïve to think it could fight against the elements, against the order of the gods.

I was amazed by the clarity of my thoughts. If only everyone thought in the conscious world as they think in the unconscious world, then I won't have been in the trouble I was in.

The dream did not appear to my vision again, nor did past memories. My eyelids were heavy, but I kept them slightly open, as wide as I could. The man standing over me came into focus slowly, mostly because my body didn't seem to can much whether they saw him or not. If my body was fully functional, I would have scrabbled backwards from the man in a spasm of shock. But I was left with just a quickly yelp and wide eyes.

"I'm not sure whether I should call you Anton any longer, my lady," Odysseus said calmly. He was crouching by my feet, his hands folded over his mouth as if he was silently thinking about my future. His deep brown eyes were comforting but also intrigued in private thoughts.

"You. . . secret. . ." I gurgled like a fool, my tongue was still unconscious it seemed. Yet an intelligent man like Odysseus was able to fill in the missing words of my speech.

"I suppose it's too soon for you to speak, lady Anton," he smiled. "I will speak for the both of us. While you laid unconscious had time to think of questions that could possibly be on your mind." He ran his hand through his drown wavy hair, before beginning. My scattered mind thought he was quite attractive. The rest of me was too dead with exhaust to either prove this thought correct or disapprove it.

"I was the only one that took care of you, Anton," he explained slowly for the sake of my resembling mind. "I thought that it was the least I could do, because you were an important asset to our forces, despite your short time with us.'

"It is true, in a short amount of time you grew from a nameless soldier to the second most powerful fighter of the Greek armies," Odysseus recounted 'Anton's' legend. "You may have wondered how a transformation of that scale could have possibly be done in the course of no more than three days." He was actually false, I hadn't given the

questionMaybe a better word for thismuch thought. I was too busy with my triangular relationship with Achilles and Breseis. Also I had to give my pride credit for my weak perceptive, I thought myself to be a very powerful fighter.

"But I was the one who suggested that you should be watched over as our second best warrior," he continued, drawing me back to him. "I had seen you fight both at the barnfire with the other soldiers, and during the raid of the village. Your techniques were magnificent, but also you had a fire to you. I saw it in your eyes," he paused to stare for a moment into my gray eyes. "They are like a storm of passion and strength. Like a storm they show that you can be reckless, your eyes remind me of Achilles. They also show that he is reckless, and despite your strength in the battlefield, recklessness can be what defeats you in the end.'

"I think your recklessness has caught up with you before Achilles' has with him," he grinned miserably. "Perhaps it is because the gods punish you as a woman, or maybe you should have stayed in the safeties of your tent that night as Achilles' did."

"Achilles. . . I thought . . . was there. . ." my sentences were growing back steadily.

"A lot of people thought so, but it was his companion Patroclus. He took the battle against Hector shortly after you fell, but unlike you he did not fall unconscious," Odysseus lowered his head in respect. "His twelve days of mourning are over today. Achilles is not allowing himself to mourn any longer. Someone say he will confront Hector privately."

"How long . . . been I . . . gone?"

"For twelve days." We were both silent, his eyes cast away from me as I came fully back.

"How long have you known?" I asked finally. He was smart enough to realize what I was speaking about.

"For twelve days," he replied calmly. "Luckily for you I had insisted to mend you, out of respect to you. And I know that Achilles was very fond of you."

"What are you going to do?" a morsel of fear was in my voice. I tried to cough to make it sound like nothing, but a quick look from him told me that he had sensed my fear.

"I want you to stop Achilles," he said bluntly. I was taken back, and this he could see. "I fear he is going to be driven by his rage, and I fear for the soul of Hector. Prince Hector is kind, I have meet him on numerous occasions. Battling him almost brings me despair. Watching Achilles ruin him, for he surely will, will ruin me emotionally."

"How do you know Achilles will kill him?"

"One look into his eyes after that night, and it was obvious to the world that he craved for Hector's death," Odysseus sighed. "Save him, lady Anton, save him and I will do my best to secure your safety back to Greece."

"My name is Aretha," I whimpered weakly. There was no way I could not accept his offer. His offer was life. I didn't understand how I would do it, but I knew I couldn't wait to give my answer or say no. I knew this and Odysseus knew this.

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A/N Another short one, I'm sorry! I hope you're happy Luthien! Hopefully there's enough Odysseus to keep you happy until next chapter. He'll be in it too, so don't worry

This wasn't checked by soymaid by the way, it's been hard to contact her

Pls R&R!!!


	12. Homage to Hector

A/N Sorry for the LONG delay….

This will most likely be a short chapter, because I'm thinking that the next few chapters will be more . . .intense in violence (rape and torture and what not) I wanted to know if I should change the rating to 'R' instead of PG-13? If not, then the torture-scenes will be skipped for the most part.

Maybe I should write a second version of this fic. . .

* * *

This time _Aretha_ wore the armor; this time it was _her_ who sat upon the war-horse. The blades lay at either side of _her_, and no longer did Anton exist. The lie that was his life had been exposed by the perception of Odysseus. 

No longer did I fight for Greece or my honor. I fought for cowardly reasons, to avoid the punishment of truth. I was a disgrace to Greece, to all humankind, an embarrassment to my father and family. If I brought Achilles back, without bloodshed from either end, then I could escape the wrath of the gods.

I sped through the camps, a single tear rolled down my cheek. That tear washed away all that remained of Anton. My identity lay naked in the light, but Odysseus was the wise oak tree that hid it in the shade. I will always be eternally thankful for him, for giving me a chance to continue to live, even though the chances he gave me were too thin for mortal eyes to see.

My horse ran like the wind, sand billowed behind me on my trail. The men watched as the person, who they had learned to respect and trust in such a short time, flew towards the Trojan walls, the walls that had never been penetrated through its long history. 'If only I had been born a Trojan,' I thought bitterly.

But of course I would have ruined my life some how even if I were Trojan. Anton would have been created, but this time he would one of Troy's finest. Anton had no nationality, no loyalty to any land; he was just a spirit who wished to be free in any land. Anton was a spirit that could only possess you for a short time, before he leaves, abandoning you and leaving your life in shambles.

Anton wasn't to blame; the stupid women who created him were, for women should know their place among society. Their place was not freedom; they were born into a cage, a cage locked up tight and with no key. This was a lesson that I should have learned along time ago, because being ignorant of it was my downfall.

They forgot to inform me that Achilles had had an hour head start before I left the camp. My feet were still tingling from my twelve-day sleep. It was impossible for me to stop Achilles. He fought with anger and raw fury; all I fought with was hopelessness. Hopelessness was not enough to burn my blood in battle; it turned my blood cold and slowed it to a lazy flow.

It was because of this lack of hope that I did not break down in total despair as I saw a chariot ride towards me. A cloud of dust raced behind it and Achilles managed the front of it. Whipping his horse wildly, I could tell he was in little control of his emotions. Upon seeing me however, his face flashed a sign of relief. It seemed he had thought me dead, perhaps my death drove him to the killing of Hector as well, another weight to had to my guilt.

He slowed his chariot to a halt a few meters before me. He stood in silent shock, and I could see that the emotions playing through his head were confusing him. If he had killed Hector because of my presumed death and his companion's death, then he must have realized that part of his anger towards Hector had been fabricated, misunderstood, a lie. He had killed a great man, an honorable man, for only half the reason he sought him out with.

I couldn't help but cry softly. I had brought Achilles pain and guilt, something only I should have to be burden with. The gods were punishing me by bringing him pain, a man I idealized.

We both were silent and still for a long time. The war had disappeared, the Greek ships were gone, the Trojan wall was gone, and it was only he and I. Our minds seemed to communicate, he understood that I felt his pain and that I could relate to his emotions. In his eyes I could tell that he was happy to see me, but also disappointed, the lost of two people he had cared for was enough for him to die in this war. Patroclus was the only chance of peace for him; I was simply someone who could understand him. Without his peace, a life after the fighting was hollow and without someone to confide in, hollowness was lonely.

"Bring him back, Achilles," I whimpered. My horse kicked its feet impatiently, I had aroused it for a fight, and like a warrior it wanted some victor. "Hector does not deserve this brutality."

"No, he does," Achilles said in a hot whisper. "As my enemy, as the man who drove me to near insanity from despair, he deserves it! Troy will fall, and Hector will feel the revenge of Achilles pass his grave and into the afterlife. I promised him that before he died, and his soul is prepared for it."

"Patroclus would not want this, it eats away at you like fire on parchment!" I reasoned, but neither of us had use for reason anymore. Odysseus could not keep me secret if I returned, Hector was dead. There was no point in me staying there with Achilles, no point in convincing him to return Hector to his family. "I can see that this is paining you, Achilles, I can see it like I can see my own hand. It's there, and it's undeniable. Cast it away; set your guilt to rest by giving him back to his family. Let him be given the respects that a man like him deserves!"

"A warrior does not deserve peace! A murderer does not deserve what you ask me to give him," Achilles growled fiercely. "I will not allow this murderer to become a hero!"

"There are no heroes in battle, Achilles, only confused fighters!" I retorted in an equal tone of strength. "You know that Hector is more a hero than any of us, you know this."

He was silent again, and I held my words. Truly, I didn't know what more I could say to him. With my entire heart, I wanted to see him turn back to Troy, I wanted to see my wish fulfilled. Hector was the only fighter I had seen that was honorable, although from royalty, he fought with the common man, he did not stab a man in the back in combat and he did not run from a duel, even if he knew it was his death if he accepted.

Another part of me collapsed as Achilles rode pass me, without saying a word he had cursed me. Odysseus would see that our deal had turn sour when Achilles lapped through the camps with Hector's corpse tailing him.

There was nothing little left for me. I could take refuge in a Trojan village, but I did not want to live the rest of my life as a coward. I didn't want to die living a lie. I looked to Troy, and I thought of the only way I could make amends for the disrespect done to Hector.

I had to give myself to them as homage to Hector.

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"I remember the day you came to our gates," Helen whispered sorrowfully. I remained silent, I had been speaking for hours, my throat was dry and my eyes stung with tears. With my head lowered, I listened to Helen's harmonious voice. "You cried to the king, you begged us to take your life as Achilles took Hector's. You said that it was only right for us to take a child of Greece as Greece had taken a child of Troy."

I didn't reply. I could still hear my voice crying out those same words. Sighing deeply, I replayed the events after those words left my lips; I relived the pain that was still present in my body. Those terrible twelve days.

"What you didn't tell us was that you were a daughter of Greece, Aretha," Helen reached out and softly touched my arm. Her fingertips barely missed a bruise under my torn shirt. I looked up at her, and I opened my mouth to retell the final days of my life, of the life of Aretha.

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A/N Hope everyone likes it! I can't contact Soymaid, so it's not edited, sorry! Tell me what you think about the rating and stuff.

R&R!


	13. One Night Left

A/N Sorry for the long delay! Hope you guys are sitll reading this!

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Aretha opened her eyes, Helen still sat, eager to hear the end of my tale. The life outside had withered away finally. There was only silence. "And then, our great heroine meets her end by the hands of Greece's enemy," I sighed. "As it should be."

Nothing of interest happened after I turned myself in. The soldiers seized me and brought me to their king. I had hoped they would have killed me right there and then, but they put me in jail for a few hours of torture. It was through our lovely sessions together that the guards realized what I really was. Then it was a matter of what to do with me.

Was I to be charged as a man and executed? Or was I to be punished as a woman, given away to a general as a sex slave until I become boring, at which point I'd be executed? In truth I was not hesitant towards either fate, they all ended in death. Nothing matters, no pain lasts when death follows swiftly behind.

Yet my execution, my punishment would reflect on how Troy saw me, how Priam thought of me. Could he still see Anton behind Aretha's tears, or was Aretha left alone for judgment?

These were the questions that had kept me company. They did not really comfort me, if anything they exhausted me.

"Tomorrow is the day," I reminded us. "Tonight is all I have." I looked up at her, and again our eyes found each other. If she had not made me recount my story, maybe I would have drawn her towards me, so that I can feel tenderness, and even love if I fooled myself, before my death. Now too many of my wounds had been touched, lust could not settle my pain.

She came forward, crawling slowly to me on the floor. What kind of hero made a queen crawl? She reached out and took my hand. My eyes stung as the tears came. "You will have your peace tonight, that I promise you, Aretha," she swore to me. "With your death, the world will lack in bravery and righteousness."

"I'm sure the world will survive without me," I laughed. My hand slid out of her reach. I wanted to desperately ask if she was going to be there tomorrow, if she would give me the proper respect I deserved. Troy had taken care of the dead soldiers for the Greek, so decent of them, but what will they do to me?

Anton, have you made Aretha a living joke?

"Go back to Paris, Helen, he deserves to enjoy his prize," I told her. If Paris found out where his wife was this whole time, missing the celebrations, my night might not be as peaceful as she promised. "The war is over for Troy, tomorrow will be the last day you'll ever have to look at another Greek again. Don't worry about me, I want this night to myself."

"I'll be there tomorrow," she told me as she got to her feet.

"No, please don't," I said quickly. Looking into her eyes, I hoped she could sense why I didn't want her there. She was the only one who knew Aretha and Anton. Without her seeing their deaths, I could die knowing that they continued to live on through her. If she saw the execution, then they will end with my death. Of course she would not preach my adventures on the streets of Troy, but I hoped she would keep my story close to your heart.

She nodded and I knew she wouldn't be there. She understood my fear. Every warrior wanted to find immortality. Aretha was no different, the only thing was that I had to find a different way to immortality. I wanted to disappear, I wanted to become a legend and myth. If she saw my death, she would know I was real, that Anton and Aretha were of flesh and blood.

The door was opened for her, and I could hear speak with the guards. Her voice was assertive. She was unafraid. Was it because she left with a part of Anton? Or was she leaving with Aretha by her side? Who was I left with? Who was going to be with me in my walk to death?

I buried my face in the hands. My body fell to the side and I rolled up within myself. I had to stop thinking, these thoughts would make this night into a normal night, which I had grown accustomed to. A night of torment and sorrow to remind me of it all.

That night wasn't hell just for me. That night would be a sore memory for all of Troy. This was destined as the first scream sounded in the sleeping streets. The air that had become still after the festivities filled with screams of terror and swords clashed. The sound of swords caught my attention most. Movement was happening, the movement of soldiers.

I jumped to my feet, the pain in my body was secondary now. Greece hadn't left, she had done what was believed impossible. She penetrated Troy's wall.

Although I had no stakes in the war anymore, I shouted in joy. An epic ending for an epic tale, this war would be remembered for centuries to come. I was filled with pride, I had been a part of this.

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A/N I know its short, but I want the next chapter to be in third person, so I had to let Aretha/Anton say her peace. As you can see, she's gone a bit psycho, but can you blame her? 


	14. Tragedy

_Oh my, it's the end...finally! Sorry for all the long delays. This chapter is written in third person, Aretha/Anton has said everything they could, now it's time for the judgement. I wanted to write a cool narrative that kind of explored some concepts that this fic hopefully raised. But the narrative isn't suppose to be boring either, its meant to be a little bit on the witty side..._

_ A big thank you goes out to Soymaid who was sooo kind to actually take the time to help revise my chapters with me. I love you! It was just a shame that there was a long time where neither of us could get in contact, oh well I'm still happy with how things went. _

_Thank you for everyone who reviewed, it meant a lot to read all those nice comments after a long-long day. I'm sure everyone would agree that reviews help. Please leave a final review and enjoy! _**  
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A Tragedy**

The terrors of war and bloodlust stained the streets of Troy on that final night. The gods had favored the Greeks, or perhaps the gods who watched over Troy had seen the inevitable end. Women could not run quickly enough as the hungry and lustful soldiers flooded the streets, and children could not turn their eyes away from the horror in time to save their innocence. The drunken men who were responsible for Troy's defenses barely felt the first sting of the blade entering their body and their minds could not properly grasp the concept of their own deaths.

Some, though, some who could not bring themselves to celebrate a bloodbath that took their fathers and sons, observed this doom from their windowsills. They neither fled nor cried when their doors were torn down. Oh, Troy! Your splendor was short-lived and all we have to blame is our own ignorance. Tonight the angels cry for you, sweet Troy.

From a small barred window in a prison cell, the imposter could only watch with impatience as the underworld opened its doors to newcomers. Some tried to fight, the sober guards who had been on duty before the siege began, who had missed partaking in the last joyous event in Troy. But they had come in time to bid their fair city farewell.

Some poor coward's dagger was knocked aside, and fell within the liar's reach. With hands like the claws of a street rat, the imposter snatched the weapon of the dead man. Whether this qualified as stealing from the dead, only the gods can judge. In the end it would only be one more offense to hold against this disturbed soul.

The prisoner's guards had abandoned the facility, deciding to leave the lowlifes to the hands of the invaders. Perhaps they will find as much amusement in the liar as the guards had. The scars that the prisoner wore would never fade, nor would the memory of touching glory – because once you've tasted glory, the taste lingers on your lips, a mocking reminder of your inadequacy.

Hurried footsteps could be heard as the invaders approached. In anticipation of their arrival, the prisoner tore the rags that covered its filthy body, exposing a small pink breast. With a feigned look of helplessness, the prisoner stood in waiting, with a dagger held out of sight.

The first Greek soldier entered, and foolishly left his weapon outside the door. His eyes were hungry; it had been so long since he had felt a body of the inferior gender underneath him. With his calloused hands, he reached out for what he thought was a common whore locked in a prison cell. Yet this was a being much lower than a woman, this was a liar and a cheat, who had tried to escape its wicked deeds through self-sacrifice.

Now only the woman whose face launched a thousand ships knew the truth and could give this fiend a name.

"Never again!" the liar exclaimed as the dagger's blade sliced across the tender skin of the throat. The soldier was shocked. His shout of surprise or his cry for help stuck in his neck, and its sound drained out of him as the blood emptied. His friend, who had been pacing the floor outside the cell, waiting for when his chance would come, charged towards the ragged creature, with a spear driving for its heart.

Because the soldier was too inexperienced to best this person, all the prisoner did was dodge to the right. Then the dagger was driven through the poor boy's skull from the side. Killing was a familiar sensation for the imposter, so the feeling of the fallen soul passing by to be claimed by Hades was insignificant. All it craved now was closure, an execution that might be fitting.

Only two names, only two people from the entire world, were fit to bring this imposter, this liar, this infidel to an end. Wearing the armor of its victims and holding the swords brought from Greece, the prisoner left the prison cell behind search of death out on the battlefield.

The heart of the battle, if a battle can indeed possess a heart, was where Achilles stood. His strength and conviction to survive and succeed was the pulse that shook the ground beneath everyone's feet. This entire city, this city that was being ravaged by flames, was his domain as long as battle rung in the air. He willingly breathed in the blood of the dead, for without his fallen foes his might would have been unsung. Yes, he was grateful for their weakness and he basked in their downfall.

Fourteen days ago he had heard his battle companion had been taken by Troy. The other man had willingly given himself up, the reason was still a mystery to Achilles. Anton, what a hero you could have been! The masses would have sung our names together for all eternity, but you have surrendered to mortality. What have you exchanged for eternal life? What is greater than _this_?

The answer will be lost within history, for Anton ceased to exist that night. No prophecy had foretold Anton's grandness perhaps, if someone had made further reading, they could have seen the imprint of Anton's life and success, but they would also be forewarned of Aretha's death and failure. The irony of course was that Aretha made a horrible woman while Anton personified all that was masculine.

Maybe for its last talk, for the last time, the liar could have the chance to speak the truth that chained it to the ground, but the truth would only ruin the tale. Achilles wanted immortality; he feared death and not lies. The liar stepped into sight, the two blades already stained with blood. Tonight the released prisoner killed from both sides mercilessly, the blood of the Greek and Trojans combining on the cold steel held in its hands. It was beautiful, that finally there was peace as the two bloods shared the same blade, the same home. Finally something big enough to hold both their egos!

The doomed one had sought out its executioner, now it was only a matter of enticing it to do its work. "Achilles!" the voice of Anton called out over the courtyard, but it was the voice of Aretha that echoed after. Achilles turned, with an expression of surprise and confusion.

"Anton, you live!"

"Anton never lived," the liar spoke its first truth. "I killed someone for Anton, I thought I had traded a sorry excuse of a life for Anton's, but I was fooled. Anton never existed- how could he with me being what I am?"

"What matters do you speak of, Anton?" Achilles asked slowly.

"Come and fight me, Achilles," the liar begged. "If I can not be written in time as Anton, a heroic fighter of Greece, allow me to be the mightiest of those who fell to Achilles the great! (1)"

If history took the time to love Anton, then it would be told that only the great Achilles could have killed this young son of Sparta. Or history would tell how even the great Achilles was fooled by a woman. It would all depend on who writes it.

Achilles took the offensive, taking up his blade and shield. Anton's legs were tired from torture and abuse that the guards of Troy had shown him, but they managed to keep him from falling from Achilles' blows. With no shield, the prisoner was hiding from no one's eyes now; everything was exposed. It was just that Achilles was blind to the truth. He was too busy chasing immortality. He was constantly in the process of becoming a legend, and legends do not consist of truths.

Turning as if cradled by the winds, the blades flickered in the lights of the torched houses. Achilles could only hold the shield before his eyes to protect himself and from the might of those blades he was forced to take a step back. Desperation took over, a desperation not to live, but to return to the fabrics of life. A need to return back to earth, fire, wind and water, to what made the human being. The only way to redeem oneself is to return to the very beginning, where the canvas was touched by neither (just reordering) white nor black.

Only Achilles could break the bonds that held the liar's mangled form together. The imposter held a female form, but it was unrecognizable now. The imposter was so far from its real form that it seemed to deny what was natural and logical to become something without explanation. Some would say it was a form of rebellion, to break the mold, but now it was a monument of failure and depression. A living form that was like a poisonous liquid, wasting away for its container. What a grave fate! Please Achilles, if there is any mercy in your heart, you will end this creature's suffering!

Achilles rammed his shield into the prisoner's face, breaking the nose. Blood flowed profusely, but the tortured creature did not move to stop it. Nothing of the physical realm touched it anymore. So close to the end, all the things that were obsolete had fallen away. It was not soon after the shield was torn away from the fractured nose that the tip of his sword penetrated the lungs. Suddenly the prisoner inhaled sharply, as if dropped into a bath of ice water. This was death, this was Hades' personal invitation to the underworld.

Stumbling backwards the creature that had stripped itself of both its names fell to its back. The blades were still in hand. Achilles approached his wounded prey. "This is what you wanted, Anton, do not die cursing my name," he warned him.

"I could never bare you ill will, my friend," the prisoner said with bloodied lips. The metallic taste of one's blood is always surprising, and now at the end the prisoner could appreciate its fine flavor.

"Why did you want to die? You could have lived forever, you and I."

"At first, I wanted Anton to live forever, but…but I realized it was not my place to push Anton to immortality, especially as Anton was burdened by such as weak mortal as me. He could never rise with me weighing against him, a man can not be idolized who has such a flaw."

"I…I don't understand."

"Of course not, you were born to be a great, legendary _man_."

"Do you want a burial…do you want me to bring your body to your family?"

"Gods, no! Leave my body here, so it may burn down with Troy. Troy may never have my heart, no land will, but it may have my body. A body is only bone, flesh and blood, and my body is worth even less."

Achilles knelt down and brought the fallen fighter in his arms. Pulling away his helmet, he peered into the fading eyes of his friend. This fight had been his last and most glorious moment, a moment worth noting in Achilles' tale. And the great Achilles would not deny Anton by not sharing this moment. When he returned to Troy he would tell of Anton, the mysterious warrior of Sparta.

A kiss, so tender and foreign in the prisoner's world of pain. It tasted of Briseis, it tasted of the husband left buried dead and alone, it tasted of compassion and it tasted of release. Achilles removed his lips from the liar's, and the liar smiled weakly. Lifting a quivering hand, he touched the strong face of the warrior. "You have yet to become a legend, Achilles - go!"

Oh how cruel fate is! Had Achilles listened, had he heeded the words of the dying liar, he would have left with the rest of the Greeks safely. But the gods that Achilles had turned his back to so many times finally had the last laugh as an arrow struck the only vulnerable point of Achilles form. An arrow stabbed through his ankle, and he fell away, gripping the wound. Such pain, unlike for the liar, was foreign and the feeling of dread that wrapped around his heart turned him cold. Paris, the last son of Troy, sent another arrow to Achilles, this time a gift for his heart. This prince was not a fool after all, for he knew that to kill Achilles was to kill the heart of the battle that was destroying his city.

The liar winced as he turned to look at the arrow-ridden Achilles. The warrior, the great warrior, refused his death because death was never a factor in his actions. Yet now death was shadowing him as he tried to get to his feet. It was like watching a bear try to recover from being torn apart by hunting dogs. Death was pending. He only managed to rise above the ground before three more arrows cut into his chest.

The liar wondered what it felt like, to have the strength to fight against death again. Achilles hit the ground and a billow of dust rose around him. Were the spirits of those he had mercilessly killed rejoicing? Was this their way of shouting their victory over Achilles? The liar laughed, despite their friendship, because it was amusing to see someone who was so stubborn finally fall. And to Paris! A boy unfit for war!

Her voice called out when the liar only had moments to live. It seemed that she had forgotten her previous feelings of betrayal and hurt against this being, for she came to the liar's side. With soft hands and smelling of sweet perfumes, she brushed away the blood from his lips. A second kiss, tasting this time of Achilles. "Anton!" Briseis called, trying to pull who she believed to be Anton back from death. But 'Anton' was now holding the hand of Hades and walking away from the living. "Oh Anton! I knew…don't go…stay please…it's over now…you're safe…no! Anton!"

Maybe if she had called the name 'Aretha' the body would have responded, but there is no telling what might have been. With Achilles dead, the tale of his duel with Anton is lost to the ashes and dust of that battlefield. The story of Aretha was left in a small damp prison cell, where no one will find it. Briseis, who was too love-struck by the idealized form of Anton, could not be trusted with holding the truth of Aretha. But did this imposter, this liar really want to be remembered? Perhaps – it was never really known.

It is good that this story shall never be told, because it would be without heart. This is a story about someone that no one can relate to, and that no one therefore can love. This character was neither man nor woman; rather it was a rebellion against all forms, and as such the only one to kill it was Achilles or Briseis, a man and woman practicing within the restrictions of their forms. And the character grew to respect these individuals, for they were strong and unwanting, satisfied with their forms.

Because it rebelled against its own form, the character became restless and soon desperate to reform. But it was too late, the situation was beyond repair. Only death could end this chaos that it had created.

A tragedy in every sense of the word.

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_(1) I know Hector is technically the greatest person Achilles beat, but for the sake of this fic, Anton is top three._

_Oh yeah, one final 'I don't own the movie Troy!' Hope everyone was pleased with the ending, I thought it was fitting for Aretha/Anton _


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